"Is that blood??"
Mr. Monk and the Badge
In the spring semester of my senior year -- about the time that the second season of "Monk" was wrapping up* -- I wrote a term paper for a fantasy independent study that I was doing with my favorite English Lit professor. The paper was about the themes of individualism vs. collectivism, as they're portrayed in fantasy literature -- not an uninteresting way to look at fantasy literature, as it would turn out.
* [And you can safely assume I'd watched "Mr. Monk Meets Dale the Whale" at least half a dozen times by this point. Jest a little random trivia there for ya.]
In the course of helping me with my paper drafts, my professor and I got into a debate about the character of Rincewind, the hopelessly-inept, cowardly wizard (well, "wizzard") of Terry Pratchett's Discworld novels. I'd read the book "Sourcery" for the study -- my profesor's choice -- and in my paper I was making the argument that Rincewind, who faces off against the bad guy all by himself in the climatic end of the novel (despite his immense cowardice) was, in that respect, a symbol of individualism. Standing up all alone to risk your life and save the world -- how much more of a vigilante Lone Hero could you get?
"But that's not how Rincewind defines himself," my professor pointed out. "He defines himself by being part of a group."
"But he's fighting all alone, in the end," I said. "He is alone in the end."
"He's all alone, but that's different from how he defines himself. He's a wizard, right?" And if you know anything about Rincewind and "Sourcery" and his WIZZARD hat, you will understand that there's no denying that Rincewind, for all that he is really a rather rubbish wizard, definitely gets his sense of purpose from being a wizard, nonetheless.
"Yeah ..." I said, already sensing I was losing this argument and not particularly liking it. "But that doesn't really have anything to do with being part of a collective. He's proud of being a wizard, not of being part of a group."
"The wizards are a group," my professor said. "He's a part of that group. It's what makes him who he is."
I know I said something else then, made some sort of argument, but I can't remember what it was -- I knew I'd lost, and just didn't want to go down without a fight. I'd loved "Sourcery," and a big part of that love was getting to see this main character I was so fond of standing up alone to save the (Disc)world when no one else would or could step forward. Turning that decisive, defining act of individual courage into a character defining himself by being part of a crowd didn't sit too well with me, to say the least.
I thought of that paper when Monk is handing his badge back to Captain Stottlemeyer at the end of "Mr. Monk and the Badge," in no small part because I was aware of how ironically disappointed this episode would have made me had it aired in 2004, or if it had aired last year, or probably even a few months ago. I would have missed the irony of that disappointment, granted, but it would have been there all the same.
Thinking about it, it's surprising that the episode didn't devastate me, especially if you consider my reaction to the opening teaser. I knew from the preview that Monk was going to get his badge back in this episode, and yet I dissolved into tears almost from the opening shot. By the time Natalie is saying, "I think it's real, Mr. Monk," and a choked-up Monk is managing a, "Thank you, Cap'n," I was crying so hard I couldn't see the television properly. It was a deeply-joyous moment, watching this character we love so much and have seen fight for this for so long finally achieve his ultimate dream.* I couldn't wait to watch that dream unfold, and if I wished that we'd had a little more time to watch it in (maybe, I thought, this could have happened a _few_ more episodes earlier, at least?), I couldn't begrudge the writers all the same. The important thing was they were giving him his dream at last.
* [I don't doubt that solving Trudy's murder is Monk's number one priority, but solving her murder goes beyond being a _dream_ of his, if you see my point.]
The first scene after the opening credits and commercial was essentially setting the stage for an entirely new show, but I loved it, loved seeing Monk so happy, loved seeing Natalie so happy _for_ him. I liked that she was still there, packing his lunch, still being his assistant, even though I'd worked out before Monk himself did that things were about to change. As happy as I was to hear that Natalie had an interview -- c'mon, she's our strong resilient Natalie, you gotta show that she's always gonna be okay, no matter what -- the look in Monk's eyes as he says, "I'm going to miss you," tugged pretty severely on my heartstrings. So did Natalie holding back some tears as Monk goes out the door, determined for both their sakes not to make this a sad thing. Because life changes, after all -- and the show was acknowledging that, not like those shows that insist on ending with everything being exactly the same as it's always been.* I was proud of them for embracing the changes and playing them out so realistically. (This will prove to be ironic, although not in the way that you're thinking.)
* [There are definitely shows that I take issue with because they go too far the other way with this -- "Home Improvement," you tool of a show (HAR!) -- but I rarely want everything to end _exactly_ the same as it started, because life isn't like that. And "Monk," in particular, needs to change, as I've said.]
I loved Monk's first morning on the job -- exactly straightening up the pile of papers (this, I remember thinking, _this_ must be what he was like before, with tics and quirks that are amusing and endearing (to the audience, anyway) but not _debilitating_); hanging up his picture of Trudy at his old desk; handling the tip line with the same sense of, ah, fun and enjoyment that I have on many days at my job -- well, don't we all. ("Where _are_ you?") This was, indeed, Season8!Monk -- Monk with his own resilience, whistling quite enthusiastically in the dark -- but with his burden of worry no longer quite so heavy. Watching him struggle to work out the headset, to manage the computer ("Don't put me on ho--") -- I knew that Monk had, indeed, been ready to get his badge back. Even if Natalie can't be his assistant anymore. Even if he won't get to work with Stottlemeyer and Disher anymore. Even if he can't choose his own cases, can't follow his own instincts, can't do what he does best because he's on "the other side of the blue line" and it doesn't work that way anymore.
By the time we get to his therapy session with Dr. Bell, I'm quite aware of my mum's theory that the show would end with Monk going back to consulting, just like he's always done -- it was a suggestion she'd made once or twice when I'd been wailing about what was going to happen to _Natalie_ if -- or when, I'd been fairly sure -- Monk rejoined the force. I wasn't quite sure, when I watched the therapy scene, that Mum's theory was going to prove to be the case -- but the possibility was on my mind.
And I really cannot tell you how much I love that scene with Monk and Dr. Bell. I relate so much to that scene. I understood every single word Monk said, every single reaction, and it resonated with me on a level that makes me think I need to take a hint and job hunt already, really job hunt, really start to make some changes in my life, because everything he was talking about came down to feeling _stuck_ and, damn, do I know that feeling well these days. "Why didn't you tell me I was happy?" (I can _hear_ myself saying that to my own counselor), and "It's my dream job -- and I'm miserable." And, maybe most of all, "I _can't quit!_" I understood, so deeply, what he meant and how he felt -- no, he's not happy any longer, his dream has taken away everything he loves about what he loves best (being a detective -- with or without the badge).
But he wanted it for so long. He fought for it so hard. He can't quit. He just _can't_.
And, when we end that scene -- despite the fact that the show dynamic had changed completely, now, I still wasn't sure how things were going to end. Sure, Natalie, Stottlemeyer, and Disher are all out of the everyday picture, but this episode is the _last_ episode before the two-part series finale. There _are_ no more everyday pictures in this series, and so while I thought my mother's theory sounded far more sensible to me now than it did when she first suggested it, I still wasn't sure how it would all wrap up. Surely something had to change, they couldn't leave Monk _stuck_ -- but how, exactly, that change would come about was up in the air for me.
In hindsight, I have to wonder (although I kind of like not knowing) how long the writers knew that Monk was going to turn his badge back in at the end of the series. I love that it takes something as big as nearly getting thrown off the side of a skyscraper to give him the courage -- or perhaps just, well, the push he needed -- to go back to being a consultant. To admit, more to himself than anyone else, that he's "a different man." ("Who isn't?")
I also bark-laughed and cheered and clapped like an approving seal when Monk jams his badge into the window washer's leg to beat the guy and save his own life. Symbolism doesn't come much more awesome than that, guys.
And then ... it's back to the way it was, with Monk as a consultant, with Natalie (who had been doing just awesome-possum fine as an uber-successful rock-star-manager assistant)* as his assistant, as his partner. Back to working with Stottlemeyer and Randy once more. Back to normal -- except not quite.
* [I've already moved far past this, but just because it got so much rant-coverage on my "Monk" entries I thought I'd tie up the loose ends of my now-defunct Inner Shipper here. Because this episode was Strike Three for said I.S., you see. Strike One came in "Mr. Monk and Sharona" when Natalie calls Monk "Adrian" exactly once before they decide they both hate it; that didn't necessarily mean romance was impossible, but it wasn't a good sign for it. Strike Two was in "Mr. Monk is the Best Man," when Natalie mentions she's bringing Dr. Casper Van Dwighatever to Stottlemeyer's wedding, which had me thinking, "Why mention Natalie's love interest from 'Mr. Monk is Underwater' if we're not going somewhere with him?? Oh dear ..." And Strike Three was here, when Monk decides to remain a private consultant and Natalie comes back as his assistant for good. And, that was it; Inner Shipper admitted gracious defeat and, with a faint and rapidly-fading poof of miniscule "aww-well"-ness (I can't even truly call it disappointment), that was the end of my shipping hopes. I mean, they COULD still make these two a couple -- they COULD still do anything, obviously, including having Trudy come back from the dead (yick) -- but they really won't. And I don't need 'em to anymore, because Monk and Natalie are still partners, after all. It was unusual for me to ship Monk and Natalie in the first place, because I'm usually the one whining that show people always take an awesome friendship between two characters and HAVE to turn it into a romance, always-always-always, because romantic relationships are "more important" in our culture than friendships or family, and I HATE that. (*coughcoughDoctorWhoSeriesTwocoughcough*) I was surprised that an I.S. emerged for Monk and Natalie, because it was so unlike me, but I'm convinced that it really was borne entirely out of a desire that these two wouldn't lose their connection in each other's lives.
And -- they haven't. They won't.
And I don't want it any other way. :)]
Because what makes this so remarkable is that, by returning Monk externally to the status quo of the show, they've allowed Monk to completely change on the inside. Since the premiere "movie" episode, Monk has wanted nothing more than his badge. And now, two episodes before the series end, he's changed enough to choose not to carry a badge anymore. And it's _solely_ his choice, too -- he had the badge in his hands. He was a _cop_ again. And he'd finally gained the respect of his new superior, in the instant before he decides to retire his badge. The choice was entirely in his hands -- and he chooses to turn his badge back in.
And it isn't about Monk being forced to stop reaching for the stars, not about being forced to accept that he has to be happy and settle with not being a cop because the world or his own neuroses won't let him achieve that goal. This is, instead, the proactive side of Choosing To Be Happy. It's about Monk changing enough to have his goals change, and about him _allowing_ himself to admit to that change and embrace what it is that makes him happy, even if it's not the answer he expected it to be. And I've been trying to keep my episode thoughts separate from each other, but I have to say this much (without being spoilery about anything): if Part One of the finale is any indication, a huge part of what the show is trying to say is that we often can't find the answers because it's an answer we never expected. It means something important to have Monk, in this episode, choosing and accepting and loving the unexpected side of himself.
It's a lesson I could learn from. Because a few years ago -- maybe even a few months ago -- having Monk get his badge back and then decide not to keep it would have INFURIATED me; he works so hard and dreams for so long, only to turn his back on what he wanted most in the world? Because I wouldn't have gotten it, you see. All I would have seen was that Monk doesn't get to be a wizard -- er, that is, a cop -- again. After wanting it for so very long, and having it be so important to him. How could it stop being so important to him? Isn't it who he _is_??
It's true that Adrian Monk has always defined himself through his job, which is a big reason why his badge meant so much to him. He has always been a detective, with or without a badge. You could argue that's a bad thing -- nobody, as Dave Barry has said, should ever confuse their job with their life -- but I don't think that's what's meant to be going on here. After all, being a husband was another important facet to how Monk defined himself when he was married to Trudy (still is, as a matter of fact, for better or worse). As the show's gone on, we've seen him add brother, son, and friend to that list -- and partner, too, given how his relationship with Natalie has developed in episodes like "On Wheels" and "The Voodoo Curse." We see hints of other defining characteristics, as well -- Berkley graduate, book-lover (the dude read Emerson every night after his wife died; don't argue with me about this one), neat freak (I mean that quite affectionately and approvingly). Even parental figure, because while he could never replace Benji or Julie's fathers, there's no denying he had an important role in both their lives. ("Stay out of this. You're not his father." / "That's true. But I care about him as much as any father." / "OOOUCH! Please STO-op!")
So it's not that Monk _is_ the job, it's not that Monk thinks that his profession is more important than his loved ones or living his life. It's just that Monk has a passion -- a bliss, if you want to get all Joseph-Campbell about it. Being a detective is his _passion_, and he couldn't and shouldn't help defining himself to a certain degree as a detective, because it's too important a part of who he is. Look at Stottlemeyer, ready to give up his badge for T.K. -- no one could claim he makes his job the only defining part of who he is. And yet T.K. understands that being a detective is Stottlemeyer's bliss, and even before realizing she wants to take the chance of marrying a cop, T.K. won't let him give up that part of himself. Nobody should be a slave to their job, but nobody should turn their back on their passion, either. For Stottlemeyer, that meant keeping his badge.
For Monk, it meant turning it back in.
And damn, does it make such _sense_ -- who _wouldn't_ find it hard to give up being their own boss, to give up picking and choosing their own assignments, to give up working with their most beloved friends, to give up spending the majority of their time only involved with the parts of the job that they love? Even if, well ... even if it means you're not a member of the Wizard Club anymore?
There's nothing wrong, of course, with being part of a group. There's nothing wrong with defining yourself, in part, by groups that you belong to. And I really believe the answer to the individualism-vs.-collectivism debate is a happy medium: you can't always follow the crowd, you can't always ignore the rights of the individual for the rights of the collective -- but I'm not quite the 99% anarchist that Jack Sparrow is, either. It's somewhere in between, I think -- and, when it comes to defining who and what you are, I _do_ think you gotta be a bit careful about letting a group's mark of approval do it for you.
So ... how could I not love this resolution? Monk is a cop, with or without a badge. Always has been, always will be. But if it's arguable that Rincewind defines himself through his group membership, I couldn't help but think that this moment in Monk's history would have made a good example for my paper when it came to showing a defining moment of individualism. Monk _does_ belong somewhere -- he has a place in the world with his brother and father and with the friends who are like family -- but handing in that badge, keeping him in his role as a private consultant, keeping him outside the police department so that he can move and see and do what the cops can't ...
Well. It's what makes him _Monk_, now. Because you don't always need a hat to find your place.
Or a badge.