"Every little boy fantasizes about his fairytale wedding."
It's definitely fall. The weather in my neighborhood lately has been alternately crisp and bright with brittle, cool sunshine and blurred over with a layer of soft, damp fog. In both cases, it's been warmer than summer, because this is San Francisco. I did a lot of running around this weekend, and a lot of cooking, and spent Saturday night talking about the economy and the election over a kitchen table with friends, trying to suss out what's coming. Watching Carnivàle has made the hardscrabble desperation of the Great Depression a little more immediate to me than is probably good for my mental state right now.
Another sign of fall: TV season is here, and suddenly there is too much to post about.
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The Office 5.01 - "Weight Loss"
This is the first time they've shown us what happened at Dunder Mifflin over the summer. Usually, the episodes are tightly focused on a continuous timeframe, a day or a couple of days, and move with the momentum of real (television) time. The change of pace was interesting: more choppy, focused on the big events of that five weeks rather than lingering on the everyday minutiae that usually fleshes out the story over the course of an episode. It wasn't bad, but it was definitely different. Impressions, in no particular order:
* * * * *
TSCC 2.04 - "Alison from Palmdale"
This episode was all about the stories people tell to explain who they are, to the people around them and to themselves.
First and foremost, there's Cameron, who was created from the stories of Alison Young about herself, ruthlessly collected and transposed onto a mechanical double. They're the stories she used to infiltrate John Connor's camp in the future, and though it seems he was able to figure it out and reprogram her, those stories are still part of her identity. She becomes them, when she can't remember what else she is: becomes human, frail, protective, capable of feeling pain, reaching instinctively for connections. And when Cameron-the-machine remembers who she is, at last, and sloughs off the last of Alison's identification with other humans, she has come to understand the value of the story: of being able to reinvent yourself, as Jodie did; of lying, because the lie is more interesting, less ugly, than the truth. She was created from Alison Young's stories, and followed orders; now she takes Jodie's on her own, as an autonomous decision that has nothing to do with her mission, as a decision she makes about how she wants to present herself.
She doesn't like being lied to, though, and that's a stark contrast to Casey's reaction to finding out that Sarah's story about John's birth wasn't entirely true: that Sarah's lie was the saddest thing she'd ever heard, because it was wishful thinking, because it was the story Sarah wanted to be true. And Sarah understood Casey's lie just as easily: that she was scared of life with the father of her baby, and that it was easier to blame him than herself. People lie for a lot of reasons: to protect their friends (Alison), to hide their past and try to take advantage of opportunities for the future (Jodie), to make decisions easier for themselves (Casey), to make their past easier to remember (Sarah). It's a distinction that Cameron doesn't understand, a human subtlety. They also lie to get what they want. If Catherine Weaver and her husband had a daughter, it seems like there once was a human Catherine Weaver, and that like Vic, the robot is able to fake human well enough to pass. She wins Ellison over by giving him a story he wants to believe about a story she wants her daughter to believe, that her father's death wasn't his fault, and it works, because it's the kind of lying that Ellison understands.
The helicopter crash was caused by mechanical failure, not human error, on the official reports; but Catherine Weaver doesn't believe machines can make the kinds of mistakes humans can, any more than she believes that they're capable of evil. (Ellison makes that distinction: not human, but evil. I'm not actually convinced that Ellison is snowed by her; he's retained just a hint of skepticism, and it leads me to believe he thinks he can get more information from the inside.) It's interesting that she's so much more evolved than Cameron in some ways, that she understands better the different ways people lie. But Cameron's temporary flirtation with humanity was caused by mechanical error, and the things she's figuring out on her own aren't steps towards faking human more effectively; they're real experiences.
I thought the Chuck premiere was cute, and liked the idea that Chuck coming into his own as a part of the spy world looks like it will be a theme for the season. He has learned a lot--among other things, that it's never safe in the car. Hee! He's not spazzily incapable anymore, although he also hasn't suddenly morphed into a superspy, except as a fake-out. He's had a chance to weigh the ways being the Intersect has changed his life in both good and bad ways (without actually discovering the ultimate downside, his death), and in the end, was able to seize on the good, when he lost what he thought was his escape. And I especially liked that Casey didn't want to kill Chuck, and even put in a plea on his behalf, but was going to do it anyway, because orders are orders. He had his own consolation, which was that even though he was stuck at the Buy More, he didn't have to go through with it, and Jeff could die from all of those twinkies.
Also, I am deathly afraid of Lester's power trip as assistant manager. That cannot end well.
Another sign of fall: TV season is here, and suddenly there is too much to post about.
* * * * *
The Office 5.01 - "Weight Loss"
This is the first time they've shown us what happened at Dunder Mifflin over the summer. Usually, the episodes are tightly focused on a continuous timeframe, a day or a couple of days, and move with the momentum of real (television) time. The change of pace was interesting: more choppy, focused on the big events of that five weeks rather than lingering on the everyday minutiae that usually fleshes out the story over the course of an episode. It wasn't bad, but it was definitely different. Impressions, in no particular order:
- I was rooting for Jim's explanation of the engagement situation--that he and Pam had talked about it, and decided they didn't want to spend the first three months of their engagement apart--to be the end of the engagement angst. The proposal at the gas station at the side of the freeway in the pouring rain was surprisingly lovely, and more importantly, actually surprising. He got away from Dunder Mifflin to do it; he met her halfway to New York.
- Ryan's attempts to reconnect with his former coworkers would be touching if he weren't so obviously plotting his next move up from the bottom, but nobody who's genuinely sorry keeps a list. He's learned some lessons from his meteoric rise and fall, but they weren't the lessons he needed to learn.
- Kelly, bless her heart, wasn't having any of Ryan's smarm. However, dear Kelly, please do not take any advice from Creed, much less dieting advice. That's how you end up with intestinal parasites.
- Jim was right about the way Michael was killing it with Holly because she's weird and awkward in a lot of the same ways he is. It was lovely to see them making hesitant overtures toward each other, finding that those overtures mostly worked for a change. (For the most part. Michael got 50% of the concert ticket situation right, at least. Oh Michael.) The amazing thing about Holly is that Michael is an adult around her, and an extremely sweet adult at that: around he, he can step outside of his usual preoccupations with his own ego. And it's lovely to see Jim rooting for that, within limits. Limits like not wanting to talk about Holly's ass with Michael in the men's room.
- Angela is pioneering new limits of passive aggression. She sleeps just fine at night, schtupping Dwight in the warehouse and making Andy jump through impossible hoops as he plans his fairytale wedding; the point is to make him back out, so that she's not the bad guy. Oh Angela. Unfortunately, she has greatly underestimated the lengths Andy will go to to make her happy; but it looks like the use of Andy's acapella group might be the sticking point, Andy's personal line in the sand.
- Having the office weigh in collectively is so horrifyingly awful as a strategy; the weight loss contest itself is a shot of adrenaline to Michael and Dwight's already hyper-charged competitiveness. So it was especially awesome of Stanley that he wasn't having anything to do with the rest of those fools; that he understood the actual goal of the contest, and took it as a personal motivation to do something good for himself, and that he succeeded while everyone else melted down. He is, as always, living proof that ignoring everyone else and doing his own thing is the sane person's best survival strategy in that environment. Go, Stanley!
- On a related note, I love that it was Dwight who provoked this particular round of HR intervention and sensitivity training.
- Oh Toby. It just never works out for you, does it.
* * * * *
TSCC 2.04 - "Alison from Palmdale"
This episode was all about the stories people tell to explain who they are, to the people around them and to themselves.
First and foremost, there's Cameron, who was created from the stories of Alison Young about herself, ruthlessly collected and transposed onto a mechanical double. They're the stories she used to infiltrate John Connor's camp in the future, and though it seems he was able to figure it out and reprogram her, those stories are still part of her identity. She becomes them, when she can't remember what else she is: becomes human, frail, protective, capable of feeling pain, reaching instinctively for connections. And when Cameron-the-machine remembers who she is, at last, and sloughs off the last of Alison's identification with other humans, she has come to understand the value of the story: of being able to reinvent yourself, as Jodie did; of lying, because the lie is more interesting, less ugly, than the truth. She was created from Alison Young's stories, and followed orders; now she takes Jodie's on her own, as an autonomous decision that has nothing to do with her mission, as a decision she makes about how she wants to present herself.
She doesn't like being lied to, though, and that's a stark contrast to Casey's reaction to finding out that Sarah's story about John's birth wasn't entirely true: that Sarah's lie was the saddest thing she'd ever heard, because it was wishful thinking, because it was the story Sarah wanted to be true. And Sarah understood Casey's lie just as easily: that she was scared of life with the father of her baby, and that it was easier to blame him than herself. People lie for a lot of reasons: to protect their friends (Alison), to hide their past and try to take advantage of opportunities for the future (Jodie), to make decisions easier for themselves (Casey), to make their past easier to remember (Sarah). It's a distinction that Cameron doesn't understand, a human subtlety. They also lie to get what they want. If Catherine Weaver and her husband had a daughter, it seems like there once was a human Catherine Weaver, and that like Vic, the robot is able to fake human well enough to pass. She wins Ellison over by giving him a story he wants to believe about a story she wants her daughter to believe, that her father's death wasn't his fault, and it works, because it's the kind of lying that Ellison understands.
The helicopter crash was caused by mechanical failure, not human error, on the official reports; but Catherine Weaver doesn't believe machines can make the kinds of mistakes humans can, any more than she believes that they're capable of evil. (Ellison makes that distinction: not human, but evil. I'm not actually convinced that Ellison is snowed by her; he's retained just a hint of skepticism, and it leads me to believe he thinks he can get more information from the inside.) It's interesting that she's so much more evolved than Cameron in some ways, that she understands better the different ways people lie. But Cameron's temporary flirtation with humanity was caused by mechanical error, and the things she's figuring out on her own aren't steps towards faking human more effectively; they're real experiences.
I thought the Chuck premiere was cute, and liked the idea that Chuck coming into his own as a part of the spy world looks like it will be a theme for the season. He has learned a lot--among other things, that it's never safe in the car. Hee! He's not spazzily incapable anymore, although he also hasn't suddenly morphed into a superspy, except as a fake-out. He's had a chance to weigh the ways being the Intersect has changed his life in both good and bad ways (without actually discovering the ultimate downside, his death), and in the end, was able to seize on the good, when he lost what he thought was his escape. And I especially liked that Casey didn't want to kill Chuck, and even put in a plea on his behalf, but was going to do it anyway, because orders are orders. He had his own consolation, which was that even though he was stuck at the Buy More, he didn't have to go through with it, and Jeff could die from all of those twinkies.
Also, I am deathly afraid of Lester's power trip as assistant manager. That cannot end well.