And It Felt Like A Kiss

The two minutes where Jim confessed to Pam his love for her and then kissed her in the office had the truest emotions I think I've ever seen in a TV show. The only comparisons I can think of are the first episode of "The Sopranos" and a few scenes from "Homicide," both examples where the acting and writing coalesced in a special, meaningful way. ("Seinfeld" and "Curb Your Enthusiasm" have long been -- and always will be -- my favorite shows, but their brilliance, obviously, never relied on emotional resonance.) Unlike movies, TV so rarely seems to be about capturing life -- it's superficial humor, procedural drama and, increasingly, forgettable "reality." Maybe I'm wrong since I've only watched about 35 minutes of primetime TV on the three major channels the past seven years, but "The Office" is truly unique.

"Seinfeld" was exalted as "the show about nothing." Obviously, this is a conceit as everything is always about something; lives can never be nothing, I hope. But I think "The Office" actually comes much closer to embodying this phrase. On "Seinfeld," the writers always had to concoct zany things for Kramer to do and deftly and wonderfully connect intricate plot lines. In "The Office," the episodes are alternate realities of what happens at work: drug tests, "Take Your Daughter to Work Day," corporate training on sexual harassment. As Vargas Llosa theorized, great fiction is an alternate reality whose plausibility is stretched ever so but never so much (or so a former professor once taught; I think that's accurate).

"The Office" accurately captures the essence of work: Much of your life is spent with a coincidentally composed group of people who generally share the same professional talents as you. In fact, as much of your life is spent with these people as it is with the people with whom you want to share your life. You know these people surprisingly well, which prompts everyone to form a tenuous community, the feeling of family and togetherness that executives and some workers (including me, usually) want to have. But that feeling is never more than fleeting. There is moment after moment that reminds you, "Wait, who are these people again?" You wonder about your camaraderie and in that hesitation, it dissolves. Repeat and rinse.

As a friend noted, it's comical that I'm obsessed with the first episodes of a TV show now five years old (about eight years, if you count the British version). However, "The Office" weaves so much together -- subtle and absurd humor, great pacing and structure, true emotion -- that I can't stop myself from getting excited.

Thanks to Carole King for the post's title.