Dear Mr.
Katims,
Some may
know you as Jason Katims, Showrunner/Executive Producer of Friday Night Lights
and Parenthood. But I have a different designation for you: Destroyer of Inherent Manliness.
I have
ingested all of the work you’ve done on these two shows, sometimes in Netlfix-binge
fashion, and I should start by telling you that I love it. But that does not go
without its problems. You see, Mr. Katims, almost every episode of these
television shows leaves me in crippling tears. But the tears are not the biggest
issue. The biggest problem is that I know
I am going to cry, I just don’t know when it’s going to hit me. And I can’t do
anything about it.
You made us
(‘us’ being the collective population of FNL/Parenthood viewers) fall in love
with characters who seemed ancillary in the beginning. By the end of the show,
we couldn’t imagine a world without them. Landry Clarke and Amber Holt became
the moral backbones of these shows and helped produce some of the subtly great moments
in their respective runs.
The way you
set these scenes up is almost scientific. In a sense, the scenes are, dare I
say, procedural (the dreaded word for
any showrunner to hear not named Dick Wolf).
The episode starts
with a problem: Somebody’s missing! Somebody’s pregnant! What do we do about
so-and-so’s problems in school! But the story leads to a moment, or a series of
moments, in the last ten minutes of the episode.
Some moments
don’t need words. The context provided in the episode is enough for the viewer.
There is a small warning here, though. Slowly, the music builds up. For Friday
Night Lights, it was typically instrumentals from Explosions in the Sky. For
Parenthood, it’s Iron & Wine (or at least a band that sounds exactly like
Iron & Wine) featuring soft vocals and a gentle strum of an acoustic guitar.
We take a deep breath, because we understand the moment is about to hit us like
a ton of bricks. And then we watch as Matt Saracen grabs the shovel to start
burying his estranged father, or Kristina pulls Adam aside as she silently
breaks the news of her cancer diagnosis.
But subtly,
you string together a sentence that makes us fall part. Never too wordy, but
again, the context can knock you over. Do you remember when Smash told his
mother while fighting back tears, “I’m goin’ to college, Mama”? And when Adam
tells an oblivious Zeke, in regards to his son Max’s apparent autism, “There’s
something wrong with him, Dad”? Just like that, you’re reaching for your bed
sheets to dry your eyes.
I can list
several more moments (Drew hugging Sarah in the wake of Amy’s pregnancy, a
drunken Saracen screaming to Coach Taylor “Everybody leaves me!”, etc.) but I
think you get the point. We are powerless to your design. You have increased my
awareness of my vulnerability. Also, you’ve insulted my manhood while making me
question whether or not it was actually ever there. What I am really trying to
convey is I don’t know whether I want to give you a hug or punch you in the
groin. But regardless I will continue to watch the television you produce,
either as a test of your experiment or a case of a sad addiction.
Sincerely,
Eddie Rose
