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Review: “Finale,” The Office

May 17th, 2013 | Posted by Philip J Reed in review | television | the office - (2 Comments)

Finale, The Office
Well, I didn’t expect to catch the final episode of The Office, but I did. I was looking for something to watch, saw a retrospective documentary on the show followed by a new episode, and remembered — oh yeah… — this show is ending now.

So I tuned in, and the format of the episode kind of suited the fact that I hadn’t been watching for a while. I saw a few episodes of season 9 (up to the point where one of the new guys tries to date rape Erin and nobody has a problem with that) and then tuned out. But “Finale” is structured to check in on these characters after an artificial absence. We’re catching up with everyone, even as we’re saying goodbye. The fact that there really was an absence for me might have worked in its favor, or maybe it didn’t. But it should have. It also probably should have been a little better than it was.

The episode’s central conceit is that the documentary crew has finished filming and the series has aired. Now, for whatever reason, they’re filming extra footage for the DVDs…ignore, I guess, the fact that they’ve been filming these people for nine solid years and should already have plenty of “extra footage,” but this show lost touch with any semblance of reality ages ago.

And that’s kind of the problem. At some point you either throw up your hands and say, “Okay, this show is a cartoon with an impenetrable logic of its own that shifts not only from episode to episode but often from scene to scene, and I’m fine with that,” or you stop watching completely. (I did the second thing.) “Finale” only really works, though, if you see these characters as real people that are worth caring about. The episode tries its damnedest to make that stick, but ultimately the damage has been done. These aren’t real people, or anything like real people, and no amount of end-game pathos will retroactively redeem the mess.

That’s not to say it’s bad…it’s not. As an episode of television, it’s fine. As a permanent sendoff to a particular series, it’s better than The Office deserves. But it’s still a bit of a muddle, and one that tries to punctuate a story other than the one we’ve actually been told.

Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve been tuned out for almost a full season, but I really didn’t care at all about Dwight and Angela getting married. Compared to Jim and Pam, or even Phyllis and Bob, this didn’t register as a wedding. It was just a bunch of characters together. You don’t need to have real emotion at the core of every scene in a sitcom, but you need something, and if it’s not going to be particularly funny it might as well be charming, or touching, or dramatic. This was just…there. They’re married now. And since the episode split nearly all of its time between the wedding and the “cast reunion” or however I’m supposed to refer to that, one of those things really should have gone somewhere, or had some sort of narrative arc.

I did like a few things in the episode, though. For starters, maybe it’s just me, but seeing Dwight firing people as the new boss really suggested that he might be the best man for the job after all. How many offices do you know of in real life that had almost zero employee turnover for nine years?

So seeing Kevin and Toby fired, Stanley retiring, Nellie moving, Andy and Darrell following their dreams, Creed on the run from the cops, and ultimately Jim and Pam leaving as well…that made sense. But all it does is remind us that this sort of thing never happened before, which is a problem, and is probably how The Office settled so easily into stagnation in the first place. We need shakeups like this, and they can’t always come in the final episode. The half-hearted non-explanation that Toby always blocked people getting fired in the past only raised further questions. (Such as…uh…why?)

I also liked the fact that Andy’s story saw him being buffeted by cruel public taunting due to…well…the fact that he acted like a jackass on national television and then had a breakdown. Of course, Andy already acted like a jackass on national television and then had a breakdown, again and again for years and years, which the documentary crew caught in full, but for some reason a clip of him crying on American A Capella Idol or something is what does the trick. Again, don’t ask. Just go with it, because the moment when he’s teased in a bar and Darrell asks him if that happens often is just heartbreaking enough to be worth it.

As you can see, though, I can’t even praise the things I liked about the episode without it dredging up even more I didn’t like. And that’s what The Office has always been to me: great ideas and flashes of brilliance that fizzle far too easily. Great moments are undermined by reaching for lousy gags, emotional episodes are followed by everybody in the office having a dance party for no reason, and characters that finally begin to demonstrate some growth have their personalities rewired entirely the next time we see them. It’s disarming, and it’s impossible to form a bond.

Yes, I was moved by Andy’s closing thoughts about how he used to spent all of his time missing Cornell and now he spends all of his time missing Dunder-Mifflin, and how he wished it was possible to know when you were in the good old days, but which Andy is this? The career kiss-ass? The boiler waiting to blow? The hopeless romantic? The neutered nincompoop? The conniving villain? The spineless salesman? The words have meaning of their own, but they’re emanating from an empty shell that could have — and should have — been a rich and complicated character.

I don’t know. It had its touching moments, but that’s because it’s touching by default when two people who are in love do something nice for each other, or historical antagonists let down their guard to be friendly for a change, or people look back and realize they let good things slip away. That’s not down to the writing or the acting…that’s just human nature, and not much of a compliment for the episode itself.

So much of it, even for a presumably carefully-constructed capper, just feels tossed together. I’m not sure why Ryan and Kelly had to come back if all they could think to do with the characters is pair them off and have them be miserable again. I’m also not sure why they were at the wedding of two people who were never fond of them to begin with. Nor do I know why the writers would have put them there instead of the cast panel, where they would have had a logical reason to be.

And I don’t know why the two new guys were at the panel, when people who would have been watching the show would have had a lot more questions to ask someone like Todd Packer, or Karen, or even pointless Gabe who would have had more history with the production and its larger moments.

But, above all, I’m not sure why we didn’t get to hear much from Michael Scott. Yes, he was there. Yes, it was very nice that he was Dwight’s surprise best man. However I want to know what he thinks of the documentary that aired. I’m not sure why that was skirted entirely. Presumably he’s changed a lot and is no longer like the man he once was. That’s great. But for seven years he was documented being an obnoxious, domineering, broken asshole; now that’s aired…and he has nothing to say about it? Personally I’d have been happy with him saying, “I chose not to watch” and leaving it at that. I don’t need a monologue of embarrassment, I just want to know his reaction because that would help to shape him as a character.

Of course, nobody’s been a character here for a very long time. They’re costumes and zingers, so of course they can’t tell us what they think; the writers don’t even know.

Ah well. It had Dwight treating a stripper like a waitress, and I enjoyed Meredith for the first and last time when Li’l Jakey shows up to the bachelorette party. There was also a succession of progressively better moments with Creed, who has been a lone highlight of episodes for a long, long time.

His final song, a stretch of musical gentleness, suggested a much better episode than what actually preceded it. And his little reminiscence of being hired and choosing his desk, just before being led off in cuffs, was great too.

Goodbyes are messy. I know that. Maybe that’s the one thing that did make the episode real. But since these people haven’t been people for so long, I find the sendoff to be more a wistful love letter to what should have been, rather than a fitting cap to anything that actually was.

In Which Tim Takes off His Microphone

February 14th, 2013 | Posted by Philip J Reed in double indemnity | loony tunes | moonrise kingdom | personal | shaun of the dead | television | the great muppet caper | the office | thomas pynchon - (8 Comments)

The Office, series 2 episode 6

I haven’t written a Valentine’s Day post (that statement will obviously be false by the time you read this), simply because I forgot to. Maybe I could have had some fun with it, but it’s now or never so I thought I’d make a little list of what I thought were some of the most romantic moments in films and television shows that I love.

But, as always, I kept getting hung up on one of them…my absolute favorite of them: Tim taking off his microphone.

I love The Office. I can’t say that enough. (But I can say it exactly as often as I hasten to add “the UK version” to that statement.) And this moment, this one moment of a minute or two throughout the whole of its 12 standard episodes and two longform Christmas specials, is exactly why I love it. It’s everything about the show that resonated with me, and it’s everything I’ve always wanted television to be.

It’s the moment when an already-beaten character lets his guard down. It’s the moment when a man at the bottom realizes — brutally, and publicly — that he still had a ways left to fall. And it’s absolutely, profoundly heartbreaking.

Yet it’d probably be my pick for the single most romantic moment of anything I’ve ever seen. Why is that?

Well, romance takes many forms. There’s the standard falling in love, yes, but there’s more than that. There’s Edward G. Robinson lighting Fred MacMurray’s cigarette at the end of Double Indemnity. There’s Shaun and Ed playing video games after a near-apocalypse in Shaun of the Dead. There’s Scoutmaster Ward reaching out to compliment a distraught young Sam on his campsite in Moonrise Kingdom. There’s — as Thomas Pynchon observes in Vineland — the persistent romance of Sylvester and Tweety. And there’s Kermit and Miss Piggy fighting over whose acting is worse and realizing, somehow, as their tempers flare most violently that, at heart, they will always love each other.

Romance is not singular, and it wears a new face in every situation. And in this case, it’s the darkly necessary heartache of Tim taking off his microphone.

Tim’s is a life of regular disappointment (at least if we are to take the documentary crew’s editing choices as faithful to reality, but that’s a subject for a whooole other post). He doesn’t like his job, lives with his parents, wants to go back to school but can’t bring himself to do it, and, above all, yearns for a woman he can’t have: Dawn, the receptionist.

In the final episode of the second series, Tim takes action. It took him that long — until the final episode of the series proper — to do something. Everything up to that moment has been vague flirtation at best, and I mean that about everything he’s done, from pursuing Dawn to quitting his job. He gestures toward what he wants, but can’t bring himself to reach.

But with Dawn leaving for America with her fiance, he takes action. For the first time that we’ve seen him, Tim attempts to take command of his own life.

And the way he does it — or, rather, the way The Office has him do it — is darkly, perfectly beautiful. In the middle of a talking-head interview, during which he attempts to convince himself — as he always attempts to convince himself — that everything is okay, he begins to stumble over his words.

He loses track of his own thoughts. He begins to question his own explanation, and it unravels entirely, to the point that he stands up, excuses himself, and walks out of the room.

This is a unique moment for the character, and it’s enhanced by the fact that it’s a unique moment for the show. The talking heads are the most structured and artificial thing about The Office; they are shot separately from the action and later edited into the finished product. They are a structural necessity, but they aren’t quite as real.

Tim’s stumbling makes it real. His words fail him, and when they do, it’s as though a spell has been broken. Tim realizes that he doesn’t have to be sequestered in a little room in an office he hates while the woman he loves drifts away forever. So he stands up. He takes control. And the camera crew follows him down a corridor we’ve never seen before. He’s broken down the barricade, and walked us into a new and more honest world. It’s a jarring moment…because it has to be.

And it gets even more jarring when Tim commits a cardinal sin of broadcasting: he takes of his microphone.

I can’t repeat that short description enough. Tim takes off his microphone.

The implications of that moment are profound. He is controlling his own destiny at this point. The documentary crew, as long as we’ve known the characters here, have been giving The Office shape but now Tim’s done something that no amount of editing could change. He’s made everything go silent.

And he stands with Dawn in the meeting room, behind closed doors. And the camera struggles to see them through the blinds. Focus is lost. Lips can’t be read, but he’s saying something to her. And she hugs him. And they separate. And she says something to him, too.

And they leave.

And the camera is still there. And the office is still there. And his job is still there. And he’s right back where he started. He plugs his microphone in again, resigning himself to his earlier, self-constructed fate…abandoning his freedom when a moment of potential personal triumph has slipped through his fingers.

He leaves us with six words, and I break into tears every time: “She said no, by the way.”

And that is romance. Romance makes us do stupid things. It makes us behave in ways we normally wouldn’t because if we didn’t then how could we ever change? How can we ever move forward if we don’t let ourselves try to break out of the same circle now and again?

It won’t change anything, most of the time. And it can’t. Because life is circular. But, at some point, if you don’t make an effort to shift your orbit even slightly, then you have to wonder what you are doing.

And Tim made an effort to shift his orbit. Internally — though we can clearly see it in his eyes — he’s made a decision. He has to throw his weight, every ounce of it, into this. He has to try. He can’t let her go because if she goes then what will he have? If she goes, with as much as she means to him, and he lets it happen, then what hope could he have for anything? He has to do this.

And he fails. She said no, by the way.

And it’s all on camera. And it’s preserved in amber, for future generations to watch and wince through. And Tim knows that. He’s made himself into a fool. And that’s there forever.

But that’s romance. Because if he hadn’t tried, he wouldn’t have had anything. He did try, and he still has nothing. So what does that say? I don’t know, but I do know that that’s what made The Office The Office.

The show had the courage and the bravery to take even the smallest comfort away from its most likeable, relateable character. And then it had the courage and the bravery to kick him while he was down. And then it had the courage and the bravery to make it stick. Because that’s romance, too. You don’t get to turn back the clock. You don’t get to reset everything next week. You have to make these gambles…you have to throw your weight into things you know you can’t ever change…because what if, just once, you can?

Tim couldn’t, but that doesn’t make his gesture any less romantic. If anything, it gets more romantic for being doomed. After all, it doesn’t take love to move forward together…it takes love to stand up alone and make your declarations in the face of looming dissolution. It takes love to go down with a ship. It takes love to lay your feelings out in public so that they can be shattered on camera. After all, if it’s not love, then what is it?

Of course, things do work out for Tim and Dawn…at least in the sense that they get another chance in the Christmas specials. But Tim doesn’t know that now. And knowing that, however many times I watch it, doesn’t detract from that sense of devastated finality. Tim made the effort to stand up for himself, and the universe shoved him right back down in his chair.

I myself am in a relationship right now. And I myself had to watch her leave, years ago, while I was stuck in the same, regular, self-defeating circle. And I myself knew — knew — that I had to put my weight into it. That if this passed me by I could never forgive myself. I myself knew that I had to try. And I myself, metaphorically, clipped my microphone right back on after trying, so hard, and failing.

She said no, by the way.

But we had a second chance, too. And Tim’s grand gesture meant only that he was reminded of his place in the universe. That’s what I was reminded of, too.

But in both cases, something happened. A chance, a coincidence, and we got another shot.

Maybe throwing your weight against your orbit doesn’t seem to work. Maybe it even hurts. But when enough time has passed, you might find that your trajectory was changed after all. It might have taken years. It did for Tim. It did for me. But eventually you might realize that you have changed something. Some memory or dream that never quite went away when everything else did, some shadow of the future that took its time meeting up with reality. You never know the changes you’ve made in your own life…you never know, because there’s never an ending. You never “arrive” anywhere…another great theme that The Office handled so well…you just are.

And life goes on. And that can be a bad thing, or that can be the greatest, most reassuring thing imaginable.

Tim was shattered. So was I, and so were you…whoever you are. But life carries on. And what feels like an ending only feels like an ending. Because ultimately, it’s up to you to make that foolish decision. To walk into the burning house to save the one you love most. To step into the cockpit of a crashing plane because that’d be the only chance you have. To be, even on your own terms and within your own life, a hero.

That’s romance. That’s love. And it’s more painful than words have ever been able to express, which is why The Office expressed it in complete, literal silence.

But things can work out. You may always have farther to fall, but ultimately that only means that you’ve got that much more space above you that you can climb. Nobody said it would be easy. If it were easy, it wouldn’t be love.

I love you babe. Thank you for everything. I couldn’t be happier that we were able to circle back around. It’s what made this real, and I’m more grateful for that than I can even express.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

Day 3: “Christmas Special” Pt. 1 and 2, The Office (2003)

December 15th, 2012 | Posted by Philip J Reed in 12 days of christmas | ben | christmas | the office - (5 Comments)

On the third day of Christmas, Ben Gallivan gave to us…

"Christmas Special," The Office

Now, before we start, we’re not talking about the comparatively sub-par offering that the US series of the same name produced. Granted, I know that the show’s principal writing team were also behind it – but to me it just didn’t transfer as well as it could have so I am writing this as a purist; it isn’t bias, it is plain common sense. In all honestly, I am not totally aware if there was an American edition of the Christmas specials of which you will hopefully be reading more of but even still, I would imagine that the emotion shown by each and every single character (and therefore actor, because that is how The Office works) outshines anything that Mr Carell & Co would have the chutzpah to even try and replicate.

And so it begins…Part 1

In January 2001 a BBC documentary crew filmed the everyday goings on in a typical workplace. Now, nearly three years later, we return to find out what has happened to the employees of…The Office.

In the opening scene, we find David Brent – late of Wernham Hogg – reflecting upon his time as manager of the eponymous office and proclaiming himself not to be “a plonker.” For my American readers, of which I am sure outnumber my friends and family that I will undoubtedly send the link to this over-indulgent synopsis, a “plonker” is an idiot, a numbskull, as vividly portrayed by Nicholas Lyndhurst as Rodney in erstwhile Xmas favo(u)rite Only Fools and Horses. As a brief side note, the show is no longer limited to prime-time Christmas viewing, having been repeated for nigh on 30 years and has lost a little of its original spark. Such is life.

Things have changed at Wernham Hogg; Gareth Keenan is now in the boss’ chair, prompting almost unwatchable exchanges between the former and current residents. Tim Canterbury – sadly, but almost predictably – has moved sideways rather than upwards and still finds himself under Gareth despite his promise in the earlier series, we find that he has gotten nowhere. Even the “new Dawn” doesn’t get his taunting of Keenan – making his life even more of a misery than usual.

Exchanging (un)pleasantries with local grocers, selling chamoix leathers to tiny offices – this is Brent’s life now. Travelling up and down the country selling tampons to anyone who’ll have them. The tables have most definitely turned compared to the series proper; the embarrassment doesn’t come from Brent’s own faux pas anymore (well certainly not as much anyhow) but from how quickly his life has turned around for the worse. Most notably surprising is how he is treated by Gareth. Whilst filling out the internet dating form for Brent, Gareth frequently teases him about his appearance and age and general life at the moment. When pressed to explain where he has been travelling, Brent pathetically suggests Hull; “Well I had to travel to get there, it didn’t come to me; Oh look here comes Hull down the motorway in a car.”

Even his sarcastic remarks have become feeble.

"Christmas Special," The Office

Brent obviously sets himself up for these things. Who else would spend £40,000 compensation money to record a single that is certain to go nowhere? Who returns to his old place of work on an almost weekly basis to “keep up morale?”

Brent’s turnaround is the main focal point of the first part of the Christmas specials. The office Christmas party is the sub-story which gets a look in every now and again (the agenda scene being a particular delight) and some really uncomfortable moments that were one of the keys to the show’s success; this time primarily in the form of Dawn and Lee’s “life” in America, full of bickering and screaming children.

And so it continues…Part 2

The second part of the specials is more classic The Office than the first. The whole episode generally focuses on the lead up to and happening of the office Christmas party. Brent starts showing his former self again (despite being a picture of frustration and confusion) when it comes to choosing a date for the office Christmas party – after lying to Neil about actually having one. With Gareth’s somewhat limited help, we’re back on the internet dating scene and together they line up three possible women to be Brent’s date for the party.

To anyone who had up to that point been a fan of The Office, the likelihood that you could then “see what was coming” would be pretty high. This is classic David Brent territory; awkward, jerky and somewhat inappropriate conversations whether it is in front of a large group or as a one-to-one. In the first date, Brent somehow manages to steer the conversation towards breasts, seemingly within a couple of minutes of sitting down. The second date doesn’t even get as far as the two actually meeting, with the call – naturally conducted in a lay-by on a motorway – ending as soon as Brent’s potential date mocks the manager of The Office without actually realising she’s talking to him.

One of the most magical moments of the second part, however, is Brent’s visibly disappointed reaction to his third date. These three seconds are the three that I have no doubt rewound and played again and again. But essentially Brent is out of luck, and has to wait until the night of the party itself in order to meet his next date, Carol.

And so onwards…to the night of the party!

It is often said that if anything more was done with the UK version of The Office then it would be ruined entirely and that is because of the genius of the final scenes of these Christmas specials. In many ways, it brings us back to square one; the only difference being that Brent ends up happy and we – well most of us – feel happy for him, despite the years of him making us chew on the backs of the sofa in horror.

Carol – David’s date – turns up and they hit it off immediately. They are seen laughing and joking either on camera or off it. The return of Dawn (not so much Lee) is the highlight of Tim’s year, not because of the possibility that she could be the love of his life, but also because they can taunt the still-oblivious Gareth about his life in the Territorial Army (and the homoerotic connotations that this has). They’re partying like it’s 2001 all over again. But then come three moments of genius that make this special live up to its billing.

"Christmas Special," The Office

Brent vs Finchy: Well it had to happen didn’t it? The obnoxious Finchy’s endless taunting of Brent finally comes to a head at the party. After years of pandering to him and laughing off any insults, the one directed at his new flame hits hard. “Why don’t you fuck off?” are words that Finchy doesn’t hear very often – and certainly not those expected to come from Brent – and it shows.

Tim and Dawn: Well it had to happen didn’t it? But did they have to do it so well that it can make grown men weep? At first, you think it’s all over; Lee drags Dawn away once he’s had his fun, despite Dawn obviously having a great time with her own friends. Lee is a dick – no change there; even I could have written his lines for these specials. He is sleeping in the front of the taxi when Dawn opens her Secret Santa gift. It’s an oil painting set from Tim – accompanied with a sketch that she’d drawn of him a day earlier with the words “Never give up” written on the back. She leaves Lee, she goes back to the party, she kisses and leaves with Tim. Sorry for the brevity, but I need to go and mop up the tears.

David Brent funny?: And so the party ends with everybody in high spirits (or high, and drinking spirits) when Brent gate-crashes the photo taking and asks for a picture of just him and the “old gang.” He plays the fool, as he does but something is different this time. He makes them laugh.

And everyone thought he was just a big pair of tits.

Tomorrow: A yuletide adventure spanning seven years and one apocalypse.

The 10 Episodes of The Office That Aren’t Shit

September 26th, 2012 | Posted by Philip J Reed in death | disney | listomania | television | the office | the sound and the fury | utter shit | writing - (8 Comments)

The final season of The Office began last week, with the lowest-rated premiere the show’s ever had. Even lower than the premiere of the first season, which I’m pretty sure was only watched by people so that they could give it a voodoo curse. As far as season 9′s premiere? I think more people witnessed the birth of Christ. So I thought it would be fitting to look for the silver lining on the cloud of crap, and highlight each of the 10 times that the US version of the show succeeded in not being utter shit.

I know I’ll be accused of exaggerating here, but, honestly, I think I’m totally justified in saying that there were, in fact, ten distinct times that The Office rose above the level of “outright garbage” and succeeded in being “arguably watchable.” You may think I’m being too generous, but I think it’s quite fair.

So join me now as we look back at the ten times The Office managed to narrowly beat the odds, and become something that didn’t reflect poorly on viewers everywhere.

“The Fire,” Season 2, Episode 4

Why It’s Not Shit: Whenever anybody tells you Ryan is their favorite character, they’re unquestionably referring to the Ryan of the first few seasons. It didn’t take The Office long to undo what could have been their richest and most interesting character, reducing him to a generic hipster stereotype and robbing him of his complicated brilliance. This episode sees the Ryan and Michael dynamic at its best, with a truly well-handled and ever-shifting sense of power: first Michael attempts to mentor him, then ridicules him for the vast knowledge he already has, then humbly appeals for guidance himself, and finally, with irrelevant triumph, puts Ryan back in place by taunting him about a small fire he accidentally started. It’s a great, real, character-driven story that shows these two characters being the flawed — often awful — human beings they are, without resorting to caricature or cartooniness.

Why It’s Actually Still Kind of Shit: Jim leads the rest of the office in a few time-killing games during the evacuation. That’s fine, but one of them is the rather baldly intentional “Who Would You Do?” The rest of the desert-island exercises are fun, but openly asking “yo who do you want to stick your genitals in” to coworkers he barely knows comes off as perverse, and a bit revolting. Additionally, it’s odd that Kevin gets yelled at for saying “Pam” before Jim finishes telling everyone how the game is played. This makes it seem as though Kevin behaved inappropriately, which is funny, but ultimately, no, that pretty much is how the game is played…so it’s puzzling that his response was treated with disgust, as though anyone else’s later responses shouldn’t be.

Ending on a High Note: A great, early character study showing Ryan and Michael both behaving like actual people, and Dwight showing real — not overtly manufactured and instantly undone — weakness. Enjoy it while you can.

“Take Your Daughter To Work Day,” Season 2, Episode 18

Why It’s Not Shit: It’s not exactly an episode that weaves several plotlines together, but its central conceit of introducing children to the office gives nearly everyone at least one great moment, and it also provides a good example of how to sketch out the personal lives of these characters without OH I DONT KNOW SENDING THE WHOLE OFFICE TO THEIR HOUSE FOR SOME SOCIAL FUNCTION NONE OF THEM WOULD ACTUALLY GIVE A SHIT ABOUT. We also see Michael at his most vulnerable, Pam displaying a humanizing (as opposed to irritating) kind of neediness, and Stanley yelling at Ryan…which is indeed genuinely scary.

Why It’s Actually Still Kind of Shit: Everything about Michael’s appearance on the children’s show works fine, until the writers seem to think we need everyone in the room to decide for us what it means. The short moment between young Michael and the puppet should be an act of devastating restraint, but instead it’s followed up by variations on “Hey, that thing you wanted is something you never got, huh?” A little too on-the-nose, and it hurts the moment substantially. Also, it ends with Michael and Dwight singing “Teach Your Children,” which works within the episode but lays the groundwork for every future episode in which the employees sing and dance for no fucking reason whatsoever, and otherwise remind you that the show was never as good as you thought it was.

Ending on a High Note: The interactions between Michael and Toby’s daughter are a series highlight, and this is a great way to give so many characters a fun spotlight without it feeling like the isolated sketch comedy of season eight.

“Grief Counseling,” Season 3, Episode 4

Why It’s Not Shit: The death of Michael’s old boss is met by the rest of the office with a notable lack of emotion, but an opportunity to discuss, explore, and accept death comes in the form of an unfortunate bird who flies into the glass doors downstairs. “Grief Counseling” is a strange episode that manages to be sombre without losing sight of the comedy, and manages to be funny without sacrificing some genuine insight into the human condition. It’s certainly a chance to explore Michael, whose emotional responses drive the action of the entire episode, but it’s also a fine showcase for Pam, who plays into Michael’s depressive fantasies by designing a respectful casket for the bird, and delivering a monologue to her hurting boss under the guise of eulogy.

Why It’s Actually Still Kind of Shit: MEANWHILE JIM CALLS SOME PEOPLE TO FIND POTATO CHIPS IN THE LEAST RIVETING SUBPLOT THIS SIDE OF TOBY DANCES FOR COOKIES.

Ending on a High Note: The meeting in which Pam, Ryan and Kevin relay the plots of popular movies rather than share their own stories of death is an all-time great. Also, the conclusion of this episode has a great payoff in “The Return,” when Oscar asks about Dwight and Creed replies, “You didn’t hear? Decapitated. Whole big thing. We had a funeral for a bird.”

“Traveling Salesmen,” Season 3, Episode 13

Why It’s Not Shit: Episodes that pair up characters in interesting ways and give them each a chance to shine, in the case of pretty much any show, tend to be quite good. During season 3 of The Office, the writers still remembered how to do that in a way that was organic to the situation, and realistic in terms of the work environment. While the sales calls themselves are brief we learn a lot about how these people operate day to day, while the cameras are off. We see normally suave Ryan falter, learn that the obstinate Stanley has actually built up a valuable network of business relationships, and we see newcomer Andy scheme his way to success, despite demonstrating a complete lack of aptitude. This was back when Andy alternated between conniving and frightening…two very interesting modes for the character that the show has abandoned in favor of making him sing all the God damned time.

Why It’s Actually Still Kind of Shit: The Phyllis / Karen sales call is really just an excuse for a sight gag, and Angela’s glower during Andy’s final talking head is a bit obvious. But, to be honest, those are minor complaints, and this is a pretty great half hour of television.

Ending on a High Note: The entire thing is a high note, catching the office (and The Office) in a state of flux. New characters have been introduced, and the show is shaking up and developing existing relationships. These are both trends that would continue, but with conclusively diminishing returns. For now, the rewards are great.

“The Return,” Season 3, Episode 14

Why It’s Not Shit: “The Return” sees multiple plotlines — and ongoing dynamics — pay off in a single episode: Oscar’s “vacation,” Dwight’s resignation, Angela and Dwight’s relationship, Jim and Karen’s relationship, Jim and Pam’s flirtation, Andy’s angling for promotion, the dickishness of Jim’s pranks, and Andy’s anger issues. It’s a simple episode in which not much happens, but relationships are changed and characters are further defined. It’s a watershed episode in a show that at the time cared about what it meant when its characters said and did things, and Andy punching the wall is still as shocking a moment now as it was six years ago…only now it’s shocking because we’ve spent so much time with him as a defeated doormat that it no longer seems feasible.

Why It’s Actually Still Kind of Shit: The party for Oscar and Dwight is a collection of unnecessary visual gags (Meredith in a mustache, Phyllis shaking her breasts around), but the amount of wasted time in this episode can be measured in seconds, and that’s all we can really ask.

Ending on a High Note: It’s about time there was a consequence for Jim’s immaturity, even if he’s not the one facing that consequence. Andy would return, emasculated, but we do get one truly brilliant moment with him before he’s changed forever, as he intends to apply his upwardly-mobile aggressiveness to anger management training itself, intending to complete it in half the allotted time.

“Product Recall,” Season 3, Episode 21

Why It’s Not Shit: The list of Office characters that haven’t become overplayed through the years is a short one, certainly, but Creed manages somehow to be both a continuing highlight, and consistent in his characterization. “Product Recall” is the closest thing we’ve ever had to a Creed episode, and even here he’s used sparingly. His off-camera shirking of his job responsibilities drives the plot, and he only really pops up to descend — beautifully — rung by rung into the levels of despicability. It’s a great and fittingly dark episode from an era in which the writers didn’t feel the need to soften blows and humanize monstrous behavior. We also get a great Andy and Jim pairing, and probably the only genuinely funny prank on Dwight, with Jim imitating his nemesis…and then receiving some payback in kind at the end of the episode. “Product Recall” took a lot of things that The Office so frequently got wrong, and then did them right.

Why It’s Actually Still Kind of Shit: A Kelly subplot is never a good sign, but this one has a great moment of Oscar / Kevin bonding that more than redeems it. It’s disappointing that the cartoons look nothing like Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck, and Andy pining for a high school student is beyond creepy, but there’s enough great stuff here to warrant its inclusion, right down to the perfectly awful moment at the end, when Creed pockets the money he collected for the woman he got fired.

Ending on a High Note: Michael’s apology video may go literally nowhere, but it’s nice to see a crisis situation in this show that isn’t resolved by the staff hoisting him onto their shoulders and singing “We Shall Overcome.”

“Dinner Party,” Season 4, Episode 13

Why It’s Not Shit: It’s all kinds of not-shit up in here. If I were to single out just one episode of The Office to be spared from a nuclear blast, and I do look forward to that day that I am put in such a position, this would be the one. It’s brilliantly acted, terrifyingly raw, and unrelentingly dark. What’s more, it gives the audience credit. While some of the Jan / Michael bickering is a bit heavy handed, we’re left with a lot of blanks to fill in on our own, and even the talking-head moments don’t bother to hammer home the obvious…they’re legitimately funny, perhaps due to the genuinely unsettling atmosphere of Michael’s desperate dinner party. There’s a real feeling of entrapment and helplessness there, and none of the characters involved know quite how to act. It’s true to life and it’s human, even down to the surprisingly moving climax that silently follows each of the characters home for the night. Until this entry, we haven’t had any episodes on this list that feature the staff leaving the office for anything other than work-related (ie: understandable) reasons. Dinner with the boss, however, is a situation both rooted enough in reality to work, and rife enough with awkwardness to make horrifying. The cameras follow the staff for good reason here…not like when they decide to have a charity run for rabies, or Michael gets lost in his hometown (huh?). Like “Product Recall,” it’s an episode that takes a lot of the ingredients of the show at its worst, and reassembles them into a thing of beauty.

Why It’s Actually Still Kind of Shit: Michael ran through a sliding glass door because he thought he heard the ice cream man. For that tiny detail, he must have shifted from well-intentioned-but-a-bit-dumb to Benjy Compson levels of retardation. Also, Jan’s character change (competent executive to raving lunatic) lays the groundwork for all too many other characters to do the same thing…with severely diminishing returns.

Ending on a High Note: Almost nothing but great lines in this one, though the standout goes to asskissing Andy, when Michael half-heartedly asks him and Jim if they’d like to think about investing $10,000 in Jan’s home-made candle business. “Thought about it. I’m in.”

“Prince Family Paper,” Season 5, Episode 13

Why It’s Not Shit: As many of the episodes on this list are turning out to be, this one is a great character showcase: in this case, Dwight. The show doesn’t always know what to do with Dwight. He’s a psychotically-devoted businessman, an ignorant farmboy, a sensitive romantic, a violent maniac, a playful child, a sycophant and a flailing comic boob, cycling through those roles as any particular script dictates. In this case, he’s firmly in the first category, and that’s good, because that’s what should drive him as a character. In “Prince Family Paper” he pairs up with Michael for some reconnaissance work at a small rival firm. What they find there, though, is a small family running an honest business, more interested in securing their own futures than in taking down the competition. Michael, of course, goes soft when the family extends the sort of human kindness to him that he wishes he could always expect from others. Dwight, however, has a different view. “It’s not personal,” he says, and as callous as he is he has a point. “It’s business.” This is why Dwight is the most successful salesman. This is why Dwight is so devoted to his work. This is why Dwight is almost always capable of being a more interesting character than he usually gets to be. He will sink a family as long as it’s business, just as quickly as Michael would spare one in spite of it being business. It’s a great and appropriately heavy episode which more than earns its bittersweet resolution.

Why It’s Actually Still Kind of Shit: Unfortunately around a third of the episode is given over to a pointless and unfunny office debate about whether or not Hillary Swank is hot. It’s garbage. Fuckin’ trust me.

Ending on a High Note: While the episode would have been far better as a Dwight / Michael adventure with little or no input from the rest of the staff, the A plot is more than strong enough to carry the episode. Also, Michael’s “bittersweet” speech at the end of the episode is one of the only times the show truly nailed the mix of comedy and pathos that should end an episode like this.

“Dream Team,” Season 5, Episode 22

Why It’s Not Shit: The Michael Scott Paper Company arc is not only the last truly great thing the show ever did, it’s arguably the single best thing the show ever did. New boss Charles Miner lends such an air of uncomfortable change to the familiar surroundings that pretty much any arc that sprung from it would have been welcome. But Michael crashing hard against reality when he tries to start his own rival paper company is both a perfect fit for the character, and an excellent way to ground a show that was already becoming a bit cartoony. “Dream Team” may or may not be the best episode of the arc — it’s hard to say, because this particular storyline is more heavily serialized than anything else — but it’s a great distillation and exploration both of Michael’s tendency to dream too big, and why one needs to feel satisfied in his or her own life. Everything from Michael’s panicky overcooking of French toast for breakfast to Ryan stealing shoes from a bowling alley to Nana’s lucid refusal to invest in the company fills in the blanks in such a way the The Office really should have been doing since day one. And Pam’s emotional collapse toward the end of the episode leads to a genuinely moving conversation between herself and Michael. It’s a mixed moral — the fact that she quit her job is never quite presented as a good decision — but it feels like its own kind of happy ending. After all, if we have to go down, we might as well go down together.

Why It’s Actually Still Kind of Shit: Ryan popping up for this arc makes perfect sense. Ryan sticking around after this arc makes no motherfucking sense whatsoever.

Ending on a High Note: Charles Miner installing Dwight as his number two, making Kevin the receptionist and keeping Jim at arm’s length makes for some great character comedy, as our perspective is tweaked just enough to make familiar situations feel fresh. Also, the fact that Pam ultimately returns to the company as a salesperson leaves the reception desk wide open for the last great character the show ever created: the infectiously bubbly and adorably daft Erin.

“Counseling,” Season 7, Episode 2


Why It’s Not Shit: Toby’s role in the show as Michael’s foil so rarely got a chance to shine, as Michael was always fast to dismiss him cruelly and Toby — we see clearly — was fast to believe he deserved such dismissal. In this episode, however, Michael is forced to undergo a marathon six-hour counseling session with his nemesis, and it results in probably the last truly interesting character interaction this show’s had. Michael cycles through refusal, fabrication, anger, abuse, and finally acceptance in a script that feels like it could have been written for a two-man stage show. Toby never quite gets a handle on the situation the way he wishes he did, but he means well, and even has a genuine moment of breakthrough with Michael…though, of course, once Michael’s aware that he’s opening up to Toby, he shuts it down immediately, and storms out of the session. It’s a way for both characters to have a mutually-fulfilling experience, without sacrificing the inexplicable one-sided hatred that’s fueled the dynamic between these characters all along. In the end, they bond briefly over the uselessness of Gabe in a conversation that would seem at least slightly meta, if the writers could be counted on to realize that these two are right, and there’s really no reason for that guy’s continuing presence. Oh well, at least he dressed as Lady Gaga in the Halloween episode and oh boy was that fucking funny my God this show sucks.

Why It’s Actually Still Kind of Shit: Dwight’s Pretty Woman subplot genuinely feels like a rejected idea from Everybody Loves Raymond. It’s absolutely terrible, and probably a pretty good indicator of what a Dwight Schrute-centered sitcom would look like. THANK GOD NOBODY’S DOING THAT RIGHT. The better subplot revolves around Pam bluffing her way to Office Administrator. Why they felt they needed the Dwight garbage when they already had plenty of stuff going on in this episode is beyond me.

Ending on a High Note: Dwight’s idea for a daycare center in the building is kind of worthless, but I do like the sight-gag of an Insane Clown Posse poster on the wall, with “Insane” and “Posse” crossed out. It’d be a lot funnier if the camera didn’t obnoxiously zoom in the make sure we got the joke but what can you do.

Were there any other episodes that weren’t shit? If not, let me know in the comments below. And also you’re wrong.

The Office Season 9 Drinking Game

September 15th, 2012 | Posted by Philip J Reed in television | the office | utter shit - (2 Comments)

Whenever the characters sing, take a sip.

If dancing is also involved, take a bigger sip.

If the group of singing and dancing characters includes those who are absolutely not the kinds of people who would sing and dance at work but are being forced to because someone wrote it to kill four minutes of screen time, finish the glass.

Whenever we are reminded of the poor financial shape that the company is in, take a sip.

Whenever a new employee is hired on in spite of what we’ve been told about the poor finiancial shape that the company is in, take a bigger sip.

If that new employee’s hiring is redundant because there is already a character on the show doing that job, finish the glass.

If that new employee now hangs around in the background or off-camera of every episode without being given anything to ever say or do by the writers, smash the glass on the floor and rub your face in it.

Whenever you feel pity for the remaining talent on the show which is forced to perform these scripts, take a sip.

Whenever a character you once enjoyed tells a joke you heard on Two and a Half Men four years ago, take a sip.

Whenever the show steals a setpiece from its UK counterpart and Americanizes it by adding farts or two sexy people making out, finish the glass.

Whenever you find yourself laughing more at the between-acts Geico commercial, take a sip.

Whenever the previously fruitful dynamic between two characters is permanently neutralized by an unnecessary plot development, take a big sip.

Whenever a character you haven’t seen in a long time makes a cameo and excites you because you like that character, take a sip.

Whenever that character says nothing funny whatsoever and you can’t believe they’d bring him or her back just for that, finish the glass.

Whenever somebody says or does something that would get them fired or arrested, even though they know full well they are being filmed as they do it, take a tiny, tiny sip. (Volume adjusted for frequency.)

Whenever two characters kiss, consume one molecule of alcohol. (Again…)

Whenever those are two characters that really can’t be kissing without retroactively damaging everything we’ve been told about them in the past, gently introduce a small quantity of alcohol to the tongue with a medicine dropper. (And again.)

Whenever the show spends 20 minutes building toward a narrative payoff that doesn’t come, take a big sip.

Whenever you realize that that payoff doesn’t come later in the season either, and the writers just got tired of the plot strand before giving it a proper resolution, finish the glass.

Whenever you remember that you used to enjoy this show, take a sip from your glass of tears.

Whenever somebody tells you that this show was never as good as the original Office, and just seemed a lot better than it was due to a now-missing charisma and genuine chemistry between cast members who are now so tired of the work they’re doing that the scripts can shine through as the shit they really are, hug that person, because he loves you enough to tell you the truth.

How The Office Sealed its Fate by Neutering The ‘Nard Dog

February 28th, 2012 | Posted by Philip J Reed in one flew over the cuckoo's nest | television | the office - (5 Comments)

There’s absolutely no way this is the first place you’re reading this, but James Spader will be leaving The Office at the end of this season. According to Paul Lieberstein, who pulls triple duty as show runner, writer, and actor who plays Toby, this was in the cards from the start, and it was always the intention that Spader wouldn’t stick around for longer than one season. According to common sense, on the other hand, that’s bunk.

I could get into the behind-the-scenes reasons that we already know this isn’t true, but I don’t really care to do so (unless someone asks), as I’m far more interested in pondering what this means, and what it says about the show as a whole right now.* Suffice it to say that something changed here, and since it’s Spader leaving The Office and not The Office ditching Spader, we can pretty easily guess what it was.

I’d like to imagine that Spader signed up expecting to be part of a very good show. Probably not with any expectation that the show would be as good as it was in its heyday (more on that in a moment) but at least that he’d be part of a television comedy of relatively high quality. What he got — an interpretation reinforced by the fact that he’s announced his departure now, before the season’s even over and these sorts of announcements would feel more at home — was something he couldn’t be as proud of. He signed up to play a masterfully intimidating creature of intrigue, and he was immediately reduced to an assortment of fumbled character quirks trapped in a world of broad-and-getting-broader caricatures.

Perhaps he knew that this was the direction the show had been taking for a few seasons now, but thought he could help it get better. Perhaps he hadn’t seen the show since, oh I don’t know, when Michael started his own paper company. Or perhaps he’s never seen the show and his agent just told him it was really good. Whatever the reality, it didn’t live up to the fantasy, and Spader told Lieberstein he was leaving, perhaps with a disarmingly intense glower that was a far more effective use of his off-puttingly seductive anti-charm than the show ever let him display on camera.

This season of the show has been, to put it in the most polite way possible, a pile of stinking shit. But it’s important not to place the blame on Spader, as last season might have been somewhat better but certainly wasn’t good in any sense of the word. (It also included perhaps the worst episode this show could ever produce, the abysmal and embarrassing “Threat-Level Midnight.”) The Office, in short, hasn’t been good for a long time, and I’d argue that it never even lived up to its potential even in its early years, when everybody was going ape over it. To me it just started like a watered-down imitation of its much more confident British cousin, and it pretty quickly started down the road to cartoony nonsense that it’s still hurtling down today.

None of that, again, is Spader’s fault. Nor could it possibly be. In fact, Spader was probably this show’s last hope.

I remember the interview aspect of the final episodes last season, and Spader’s character really seemed like it could take the show in an interesting direction. His coldness had a magnetic ability. He was inhuman, and yet of humans. He was terrifying, and yet the only man you’d want in charge. Whatever he was going to bring to the show, it was going to be interesting.

Then they got him there and just let him flounder as an unrealized distant-manager stereotype, who has spousal issues or something.

That’s not Spader’s fault. That’s bad writing.

My girlfriend and I have talked about the decline of this show before, and a few times we’ve returned to the idea that it can still be funny, yes, but when it’s funny it’s the actors being funny…not the writers. Andy or Creed or Darryl might still make us laugh, but not because they’ve been given good lines…it’s because Ed Helms and Creed Bratton and Craig Robinson know how to deliver even bad ones. The writing has been in decline for ages…it’s the acting that does the heavy lifting.

Spader is a great actor, but his acting didn’t elevate the material. Perhaps because he wasn’t given any material worth elevating. He did his job, he punched the clock, but at the end of the day, there was no reason for him to associate himself with this show, and I think he’s realizing that. They didn’t know how to write a character, and so they didn’t write a character. They’ve never really known how to write characters…they were just blessed from the start with a cast that could bring their own. He was promised (as we were promised) a powerhouse role that would turn the show on its ear. Then he showed up for regular appearances, and they neutered him.

The same thing, on a much larger scale, happened to Andy way back when.

I’ve said earlier that I wasn’t much a fan of the early seasons. I know that puts me in the minority, but I’m okay with that. I’m also okay with the fact that I absolutely adored one of the storylines the show stumbled upon in season three: Jim’s transfer to another branch, and specifically the introduction of Andy Bernard.

Ed Helms, simply, is brilliant in those Stamford branch episodes, and he appeared immediately on the show as one of the most fully-realized characters The Office had ever seen. That, again, is due to the acting more than the writing, as Andy not only had his scripted boastfulness to coast on, but Ed Helms’s hollow swagger, his aggressively sad eyes, and his genuinely endearing musical prowess. Andy was a lot of things at once, and when Stamford was absorbed into Scranton, the show promised some enormous conflict from the merging of the two worlds.

For perhaps the only time, The Office delivered on such a promise. Andy Bernard was simultaneously a suckup and an asshole. He was fiercely loyal and a shifty turncoat. He was endearing, and yet he was dangerous. The episodes allowed his coworkers the chance to needle him as much as he needled them, and though Andy Bernard could certainly dish it out while aggressively maintaining eye contact, he couldn’t take it. Jim plays the comparatively harmless prank of hiding his personal cell phone, and Andy, raging, punches a hole in the wall. This was no cartoon…this was a man with serious issues, and he was stuck in an office with colleagues and a manager who had no idea what to do with him.

Sadly, the show had no idea what to do with him either, and though his mandatory anger management stint made perfect logical sense, it only really served to neuter the character, and he hasn’t been the same since. We’ve spent so much time exploring the fragility of Andy’s emotions and the sadness of his upbringing that we’ve gone so far past humanization that he’s nothing but a walking sack of sad now. Watching his earlier episodes in comparison to what we’re seeing now, it’s sad. Like Jack Nicholson at the end of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest sad, only there’s nobody around with a pillow. Last season, at some point, Andy got upset and threw a pizza at the wall. I finally started paying attention again, because I thought this meant his long dormant anger issues were finally flaring up again. (It would have been logistically sound for this to happen, as well.) But, alas, by the next episode he was back to skulking around dog-faced and masturbating dark bathrooms to pictures of Erin.

I’m saying all of this because it’s is exactly what just happened with Spader’s character as well, albeit at an accelerated rate. Hell, it’s the same thing that happened with Will Ferrell’s awful character, only they didn’t even wait a full episode before they started dancing around and changing what we were supposed to think of him.

An office in reality should strive for seasons free of conflict. The Office on television needs this conflict, though, if it wants to survive. We have nobody we’re asked to hate and too many people the show wants us to love. Yet they’re all just archetypal shades with nothing that makes them feel particularly human. To feel sad is to feel human, yes, but so is to punch a hole in the wall because there’s no way to turn off your ringtone.

In that long ago, totally forgotten arc, the US version of The Office found something so much like humanity it was scary. Too scary even for the writers, who sent it away to anger management training and brought it back neutered and harmless, where it wouldn’t scare or entice viewers ever again.

Personally, I think it’s high time to bring it back. It might not mean much in the grand scheme of things, but The Office sure would be more interesting right now if I had to wonder at the start of every episode whether or not Dwight was going to get his teeth kicked out. It’d certainly be a more dynamic situation than the office full of sad-eyed nobodies we’re stuck with now.

Where have you gone, angry ‘Nard Dog? A nation turns its lonely eyes to you.
—–
*I would also have accepted “The show is a hole right now.”

Office Life interview post-script

February 27th, 2012 | Posted by Philip J Reed in office life | personal | reality television | the office | thomas pynchon - (0 Comments)

The interviews were held today for Office Life, and, ultimately, it was about what I expected. A Skype interview to test how easily we could be shaped in an editing booth to fit preconceived notions. Don’t ask me why I expected anything different. I honestly don’t know.

A few of the folks being interviewed really want to be on television. There were assurances tossed around about how “crazy” they are and unpredictable and other things that no doubt reflect very well upon them as employees. Somebody even stood up and did a little dance.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be on television, of course. I don’t know what I expected. Maybe the premise that they pitched to us (“a show about how small business is the key to revitalizing America’s economy”) worked its magic on me in spite of everything I read about the show beforehand, and which was unsurprisingly absent entirely from the interview, in which they instead wanted us to act zany and classify each other into character types like the whip-cracker, the party animal and the mother hen. The might as well have asked us to identify the Dwight, the Kelly and the Phyllis.

My The Office comparisons yesterday were mainly in jest. Now I guess they were just prescient. They want to know this stuff in advance so that they can save themselves the hassle of actually learning something about their subjects, or — horror of horrors — having to deal with a group of people that don’t line up exactly with fictional characters they know from T.V.

They’re coming to film the office next week on Tuesday and Wednesday. I’m not sure how I feel about that, and based upon the interview (from which I checked out pretty quickly, as it became all too clear all too quickly what kind of show they were hoping to produce) I might decline to sign the release form, leaving it to folks who are more comfortable making themselves look deliberately foolish in front of strangers. But we’ll see. They’ve tried to reassure us by saying that they don’t want to milk our jobs for drama, because if they got a reputation of damaging businesses nobody would pick up their series. Which is obviously and entirely true; that’s why you absolutely never see people on television who have screwed other people over to get there. It’s an entirely self-policing process that weeds out any trouble makers and I’m sorry I can’t finish typing that sentence with a straight face.

I’m not saying that I’d particularly like to costar in a documentary series, but I’d at least be open to the idea. But I don’t want to costar in a broad comedy, particularly one deliberately manufactured from “real life” material in which all the scenes that don’t feature archetypal behavior are cut for time and tedium.

In Vineland, Thomas Pynchon famously wrote that “The camera is a gun.” The older I get, the more sense that observation seems to make. It’s often wisest to move out of the way before it starts shooting.

Part of me is still open-minded, but it’s a much smaller part of me now. I’m trying to stay optimistic, but hope no longer springs eternal.

Hope instead springs ’til about next Tuesday.

Perhaps, maybe, sorta, I’m possibly going to be on TV, in theory.

February 26th, 2012 | Posted by Philip J Reed in office life | personal | reality television | the office - (0 Comments)

I realize that this is a pretty bizarre first (proper) post, but timing is never something I’ve had particularly great control over so, here goes: there’s an upcoming television series called Office Life (or OFFICE LIFE if you are as fond of caps as the show’s producers), and my office has been shortlisted to appear.

How short is the list? Well, I’m being interviewed along with several other employees tomorrow. I’m sure I’ll post updates as I hear them, but essentially we’ll be followed around by a camera crew as we go about our daily work days, and the footage will be edited and assembled into half-hour weekly installments. This should sound familiar, as it’s the exact same setup as the heartbreakingly brilliant British comedy The Office. It’s also the same setup as the preposterous live action American cartoon of the same name.

I’m not sure what to think of this, really. Part of me, obviously, is quite excited. When you know you are being considered for television the camera becomes much less intimidating than, say, when you’re sloppily consuming chili dogs at a baseball game. So there’s a bit of excitement, sure. And there’s a lot of flattery, considering the fact that I was picked (alongside several others) to represent the company out of a pool of about seventy. That’s very nice, and some very kind things were said to me by the managers who chose me.

But the casting notice is a bit worrying.

“Of course we are looking for offices that may have some drama,” says Brendon Blincoe, President of Iconic Casting. “Nearly every office has a staff of characters that make it unique, from the ‘office flirt’ to the ‘office know-it-all’ to the ‘office brown noser’. We want all kinds of people and all sorts of businesses, but you must work in a conventional ‘office’ setting with cubicles, suites and be in an office building or office park.”

The grammarian in me is first concerned by his bothersome usage of the term “unique” to describe a situation in which all of those present fit into predetermined archetypes, but mainly it’s that first sentence that worries me.

Drama. Personally, I’m not afraid of drama. I sprinkle it everywhere I go, like Johnny Appleseed. But for the company? I’d hope they’d think twice.

Evidently they spoke to the casting folks, though, and were assured that they weren’t here to rake muck, and we’ve got veto power over this whole shabazz anyway, but part of me still does question the wisdom of this thing.

The other part of me just knows he will become a huge television celebrity and live in a mansion with robot butlers.

Anyway, I’ll keep you posted. And since everyone’s bound to wonder, the answers are Malcolm and Toby.

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