I was visiting a friend last weekend who was watching Sports Night for the first time. He was just getting to the part where Dan and Rebecca begin their courtship—my favorite part of the show—so I offered to watch a few with him. The first one we popped in was “How Are Things In Glocca Morra?” where Jeremy writes a letter to his sister about the goings-on behind the scenes at the show. [Very minor spoiler next] It ends with Dana handing the show over to Sally and going on a date with Gordon, setting the stage for the remaining season’s worth of drama between Dana and Casey. He simply cannot understand why she would abandon the show for personal reasons—especially to see Gordon. And when Casey finally has it out with Dana over that decision, my friend groaned. “Characters on Sorkin shows take work so seriously,” he said. “They can’t believe anyone would have a life outside of their job. Where else would missing one show be that big of a deal?”
He has a point. The stock response would probably be, “It’s not just about putting personal life over the job; it’s about the relationship between Casey and Dana.” I suppose there’s a little of that—TV, at least good TV, isn’t about what’s directly being discussed on screen. But the moments are clunky. Casey comes off as a petulant little boy, and Dana defends the deeply emotional attack by demanding she be allowed some time away from work. The moment isn't just about putting personal live over the job, but most of it is.
It dawned on me watching "How Are Things In Glocca Morra?" that writing a letter to an absent person is an attempt to make the audience care more about the goings-on at the job. Details of work decisions are explained disguised as personal updates. Work is cited as the reason there hasn't been much communication up until then. Characters are reduced to the actions they accomplish at the daily grind. It's oddly distancing, and the only way to reinvest in what's happening is to figure out what this "job" is all about. Aren't jobs great?
And lo, what West Wing episode should I happen to stumble upon next? "The Stackhouse Filibuster," the letter writingest letter writing episode to ever write a lettter of writing. The episode is a CJ-centric one (which I like) and has her writing an email to her father during some major downtime. Seems Stackhouse wanted to add some funds to the Family Wellness Bill to cover children with autism, but the administration didn't want to saturate the already-pretty-much-a-sure-thing bill. So they said no. And thus Stackhouse is up there reading from a recipe book on a Friday night. Sam wants to head up to the Hamptons. Josh has an unofficial bro date with Mike Piazza. Toby needs to hit the slopes. It's one of the first times on the show that we've heard about these staffers' hobbies (Sam's certainly didn't surprise me), but CJ is keeping them from their other loves, shackling them to their desks in case this filibuster ends.
The story itself is compelling enough. Donna does some digging and discovers that Stackhouse has a grandkid with autism, and the White House dispatches fellow grandfather Senators to ask Stackhouse questions—starting an honest debate without forcing Stackhouse to give up the floor. (Plus he can sit and have water during the questions.) I guess I don't quite understand why it needed the added construct of the letters. It gave the episode the feel of a lecture, which played directly against, for example, the simple joy of seeing Stackhouse's face light up when the first Senate questioner said, "My question comes in 22 parts…you might want to sit down and have some water." The West Wing usually has such faith in its audience's ability to fall in love with the rich world it creates; to stand back and have the characters say, "This is why you should love what's happening" played directly to what seems to be The West Wing's weakest moments: a lack of clarity.
I also found it amusing that all three letters—CJ, Josh, and Sam, who groan-ingly started his with "Dear jackass" [delete] "Dear Dad"—apologized for not writing in a while and blamed the lapse on some specific thing happening in the office. I have this friend with whom for a while it was difficult to find time to hang out. I was busy but flexible, yet she always had some commitment sucking up all her time where once it was over, she promised, she would have all sorts of availability. When that thing was over, something else would crop up with the same excuse. The thing that bothered me the most, though, was that she constantly insisted we find the time, even though her schedule seemed to be the hang-up. Finally, I called her out on it, and told her that it was okay to admit we might not see each other too often, that if things were really this nuts, we didn't have to beat ourselves up over not finding the time. She apologized and blamed the most recent time sucker, to which I pointed out it had been going on for a while. She blamed the one before that, too, to which I pointed out again how long it'd been, at which point she said, "Things have been crazy for the last three years."
I'm not trying to downplay anything that was going on in this friend's life. (And I'm not trying to bore you.) It's just the experience taught me that when two people change, one person will probably see it more clearly than the other—at least at first. Last week I spoke about the characters on The West Wing who have alienated family members we've seen: Leo's ex-wife; Toby's ex-wife; Bartlet's child Ellie. I wonder how many people these characters have alienated that we haven't seen. I wonder how many people Sorkin has alienated by throwing himself into his work I wonder whether or not "The Stackhouse Filibuster" is one last attempt to make his case—to those unfortunate people and to himself—that all the work was justified.