Tracing The Office’s rise from midseason also-ran to nine-season behemoth
With so many new series popping up on streaming services and DVD every day, it gets harder and harder to keep up with new shows, much less the all-time classics. With TV Club 10, we point you toward the 10 episodes that best represent a TV series, classic or modern. If you watch these 10, you’ll have a better idea of what that series was about, without having to watch the whole thing. These are not meant to be the 10 best episodes, but rather the 10 most representative episodes.
Greg Daniels had not been given an enviable task for his first foray into the world of live-action sitcoms. The co-creator of King Of The Hill and a former staff writer for a pair of venerated comedic institutions—Saturday Night Live and The Simpsons—Daniels might have been the only man in Hollywood with a résumé spotless enough to adapt what was, in the mid-2000s, the latest inductee to the TV comedy pantheon: The Office. An award-winning hit in its native U.K., Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant’s mockumentary about corporate drudgery had garnered a cult following after its DVD release in the U.S., marking the series as a shoo-in for an Americanized remake. But it was a tricky proposition: Any attempt at translating the awkward interactions and inappropriate workplace behavior of David Brent and company was bound to endure comparisons to the original article, not to mention echoes of NBC’s aborted attempt to bring Steven Moffat’s Coupling Stateside. So Daniels and his team went to work to counter the kneejerk skepticism, going so far as to clone Gervais and Merchant’s pilot for the U.S. Office’s first episode. But the cringe-comedy alchemy of the original proved difficult to reproduce within the constraints of U.S. broadcast standards and practices; losing nearly half of its viewership between its première and second episode and beset by tepid reviews, The Office was an unlikely candidate for a second-season renewal.
Those first six episodes of The Office work best when viewed as an extended pilot, three hours of a television series finding its legs, vision, and, most importantly, what differentiates the series from its source material. When the show returned in the fall of 2005, its edges were softened: Boss Michael Scott (Steve Carell), was less of a caustic narcissist, supporting characters (many played by members of the writing staff) were progressing beyond their status as faceless drones, and there was a note of hope in the will-they/won’t-they between goofball salesman Jim (John Krasinski) and wallflower receptionist Pam (Jenna Fischer). These were exactly the type of sunshiny, tooled-for-American-audiences changes that fans of the British original may have feared, but they did nothing to dilute the show’s sense of humor. In the early years, the employees of Dunder Mifflin could still exasperate and offend one another, but at the end of a tough workday, they’d still gladly meet up for a drink. It was Michael’s “co-workers as family” vision come to life, a begrudging tolerance best exemplified by Jim’s eventual respect for his boss—a slow-growing esteem that no amount of raised-eyebrows-to-camera could undercut. It was also a perspective that the show could sustain for an episode count beyond the original Office’s 12 half-hours and two Christmas specials—200 episodes by the time of its 2013 series final, in fact.
The Office’s longevity brought about a few bum seasons and followed supporting characters down some deeply unsatisfying rabbit holes (Andy Bernard’s rise from short-fused nuisance to surrogate Michael Scott, for starters), but at its peak, the show used its 20-plus episodes per season to mix episodic belly laughs with engaging, long-term storytelling. Jim and Pam’s romance is the prime example of the latter, but when the heat of that storyline subsided, it developed a strange parallel in the relationship between sycophantic wannabe leader Dwight (Rainn Wilson) and office fussbudget Angela (Angela Kinsey). With each passing year, Carell ended up sharing more and more of the spotlight with his co-stars (this in spite of the fact that he found success as a cinematic leading man when The 40-Year-Old Virgin bowed between seasons one and two), but the major arc spanning The Office’s first seven seasons plays like a decades-delayed coming-of-age tale for Michael Scott.
Carell’s pending departure in 2011 restored the earlier verve to a series that had settled into a comfortable groove; his farewell to The Office, “Goodbye, Michael,” should’ve also been The Office’s farewell, but the commercial demands of broadcast TV (and NBC’s dearth of respected, long-running primetime programming in the 2010s) wouldn’t allow for it. Yet even in its old age, the show has served as a cornerstone of NBC’s Thursday night; its ratings diminished, but its 9 p.m. timeslot remained the one sure thing in a programming block that’s become an unpredictable mess after the end of The Office’s equally unassuming partner in sustaining the Must See TV legacy, 30 Rock. These series never delivered the blockbuster ratings of their Thursday-night predecessors (a fact that’s allowed CBS and ABC to horn in on a night The Peacock used to rule with an iron fist), but they did create a safe haven for smart, warm-hearted comedy. The Office’s six-episode, midseason test run even provided a blueprint for the shaky-yet-promising debut season for Parks And Recreation, the product of a team-up between Daniels and Office all-star Michael Schur. Not half bad for a show that once looked doomed to wither in its inspiration’s shadow.
“Diversity Day” (season one, episode two): Working from a template set by the British original—but not reproducing it wholesale—The Office’s second episode goes to work establishing some key facets of the American remake: the rivalry between slacker Jim and model employee Dwight, mixed signals from Pam to Jim, Michael’s bad habit of hijacking other people’s presentations, and the terrifying prospect and comedic promise of the words “conference room.” The boss’ attempt at a workplace sensitivity seminar (“Diversity Tomorrow: Because today is almost over”) goes predictably awry, leading to the climactic slap that ends one of the series’ cruelest gags. Such outward brutality wouldn’t fit with the later conception of Carell’s character (unless it’s directed at Paul Lieberstein’s Toby), but as a representation of Michael’s stubborn insistence on “entertaining” his employees at all costs, it works here.
“The Client” (season two, episode seven): With the threat of downsizing looming over several episodes, it’s fitting that NBC ordered The Office’s second season piecemeal throughout the fall of 2005. That season turned out to be one of the strongest sitcom runs of the ’00s, its original six-episode order filled out by classics like “The Dundies” and “Office Olympics.” “The Client” makes good on the network’s investment, continuing the momentum of the proceeding set of episodes by sending Michael off-campus to land a major client, proving his worth to his boss—and future girlfriend—Jan Levinson (Melora Hardin). But the episode is most noteworthy for the after-hours activities at Dunder Mifflin Scranton, where Jim and Pam uncover Threat Level Midnight, a derivative bit of wish-fulfillment that re-imagines mild-mannered paper man Michael Scott as the super spy Agent Michael Scarn. Working with the limitations of the show’s main set and low-concept premise, “The Client” ekes another second-season classic from what’s basically a filmed table read—albeit one that sets time aside for Jim and Pam’s first “date” on the office-park roof, the sweet scene that launched a thousand ’shippers.
“Booze Cruise” (season two, episode 11): The main hurdle toward putting Jim and Pam together was wrapped around Jenna Fischer’s left ring finger: Like her British Office equivalent, Pam began the series in the middle of an engagement with no wedding date in sight. “Booze Cruise” fixes that right quick, delivering one of the show’s earliest emotional gut punches and forcing John Krasinski’s character to face up to his feelings for the receptionist—which, unfortunately, means confessing those feelings to the one person on staff not equipped to keep a secret: Michael. The Office emerged from “Booze Cruise” imbued with two new sources of tension, jettisoning recurring player Amy Adams in the process (a few weeks shy of her first Academy Award nomination) but gaining the hilarious image of Steve Carell delivering a motivational speech to the pounding rhythms of Sean Paul.