Farewell to Friends

Good evening Mr and Mrs America, from border to border and coast to coast and all the ships at sea. Let’s go to press.

Tonight at the writer’s workshop, we were discussing the finale of the TV show Friends, which aired tonight, ending its ten-year run. I said I was taping the episode, and would report on it.
The final episode was preceded by an hour of best-of clips, some of which were set to music. It was fun: a lot of the high points; they had ten seasons to mine and they came up with a good representative sample.

SPOILER NOTICE
If you taped the final episode of Friends and haven’t watched it yet, read no further.
The Story So Far (With Apologies to Martha Soukup)
Chandler and Monica have bought a house in the suburbs north of New York City, to which they are moving in the final episode. They are also adopting a baby from a young girl who went into labor in the penultimate episode.
Phoebe is married to Mike. Joey is remaining in the apartment across from Monica’s.
Rachel is taking a job in Paris. Ross wants her to stay, but Rachel doesn’t know that. At the end of the penultimate episode, Rachel says good bye to everyone individually at Monica’s apartment, except Ross. When Ross confronts her about it, she says it was because she cared about him the most, and saying goodbye was too hard. The episode ends with them kissing.
The Final Episode
The episode opens with Ross and Rachel kissing. Jump to later that night, Rachel is getting dressed on Ross’s bedroom, having just finished making love with him. They say goodnight; they’ll see each other in the morning. While they’re hugging, Rachel tells Ross that it was the perfect way to say goodbye. He’s obviously upset. The next day is when Rachel leaves for Paris.
Erica, the birth mother of the baby Monica and Chandler are adopting, goes into labor, and they go with her to the hospital. She gives birth to a boy, and while they’re ogling the newborn the doctor says the next one will be coming soon. It turns out Erica was expecting twins. (Erica is something of a ditz: when the doctors said “both heartbeats are strong,” she thought they meant hers and the baby’s.) Chandler and Monica are shocked at first, but of course take it in stride. Now they have twins: one boy and one girl.
While Erica is in labor, Joey, Phoebe and Ross are in the coffee shop (where else?), where Ross is telling them about what Rachel said about the perfect way to say goodbye. They urge him to tell Rachel how he feels. Rachel comes in, and just as Ross is about to tell her, Gunther (the waiter who’s had a secret and long standing crush on Rachel) tells Rachel HE loves her. Rachel lets him down gently, but this gives Ross cold feet, and he says nothing about his feelings.
Back at Monica’s apartment, later that evening, everyone’s there waiting for Chandler and Monica to bring the baby back from the hospital (they don’t know until the new parents arrive that the surrogate mom had twins). Rachel is worried about missing her plane, then Monica and Chandler arrive with the twins. Everyone oohs and ahs. Mike and Phoebe decide to start a family (like the Von Tropps, Phoebe says). Exit Rachel to catch her plane.
Phoebe and Joey convince Ross to tell Rachel how he feels. Ross finally agrees, and Phoebe drives him to the airport. Unfortunately, it’s the wrong airport: they’re at JFK; Rachel is leaving for Paris from Newark. Phoebe is driving to Newark, but they’re never going to make it in time. Phoebe calls Rachel, who is already seated on the plane, but Ross refuses to have the conversation over the phone. Phoebe tries to convince Rachel she has a bad feeling about the plane, but Rachel doesn’t buy it. Fortunately, the guy in the seat next to Rachel overhears the conversation, and he DOES buy it. He wants off the plane, and says so loudly, triggering a chorus of nervous flyers to chime in. The plane goes back to the gate and everyone gets off.
Ross and Phoebe arrive just as Rachel is getting back on the plane. Ross tells Rachel how he feels, but she gets on the plane anyway. Ross is devastated.
Ross gets back to his apartment and there’s a telephone message from Rachel: she’s just boarded the plane. This isn’t how she wanted it to end: she didn’t even tell him she loves him. She repeats that she loves him a few times, and you hear the realization in her voice that she’s making a mistake by leaving. Next you her her arguing with the flight attendant about getting off the plane. Then the message ends, and Ross doesn’t know whether or not she got off the plane. As he’s standing there, staring at the answering machine in shock and dismay, Rachel comes through the door behind him. She loves him, she wants to be with him. So does he. This time it’s for good.
The final scene is in Monica’s apartment: everything is moved out, and they’re all hanging back–not wanting to say the final good bye. After a few minutes they decide to have coffee one last time, and they all troop off together away from the camera. Fade to black.

The bald rehashing of the plot makes it sound trite and manipulative, but the final episode was actually very moving, especially the Ross-Rachel plotline (I shed a few tears–how pathetic is that?). Likewise, the gradual packing up and emptying out of Monica’s apartment was a very effective visual: as a long-time viewer it was very strange and sad to see the shelves empty out and the furniture carried away. The jokes were not the best they’ve been, I imagine because the stakes were so high for the writers and the viewers. But the chemistry between the actors was palpable, and the end result was satisfying, if sad.

Salon’s coverage, prior to the final episode, can be summed up as Good Riddance.
Reuters’ coverage was rather more affectionate.

Comrade Bush

Scientific American has an editorial entitled Bush-League Lysenkoism: The White House bends science to its will. It’s a harsh indictment of the current administration’s scientific policy.

Starting in the 1930s, the Soviets spurned genetics in favor of Lysenkoism, a fraudulent theory of heredity inspired by Communist ideology. Doing so crippled agriculture in the U.S.S.R. for decades. You would think that bad precedent would have taught President George W. Bush something. But perhaps he is no better at history than at science.

From supergee

Thinking Out Loud: The Substance of Style

I went to see Kill Bill: Vol. 2 last night with silvertide, kenficara and his partner Maya. The only scene that gripped me was David Carradine, as Bill, explaining the meaning of the Superman story. I thought the movie was otherwise heartless: an exercise in comic book violence without consequences. It had its funny moments, and some clever dialogue, but I never had any emotional investment in any of the characters. kenficara and Maya had similar objections, if I can take the liberty of summing up their reactions here. silvertide, on the other hand, said he liked the movie, an opinion he may have been reluctant to offer in the teeth of my unequivocal and flamboyant critique. When I asked him what about it he enjoyed, silvertide said he liked the movie’s style. That stopped me in my tracks (well, it turned off the engine, anyway: my mouth took a while to coast to a stop).
I’ve had the almost identical experience with kijjohnson: she has responded warmly to the style of a film or book that left me cold. Now silvertide and kijjohnson are two of the smartest people I’ve ever met, and I don’t say that lightly: they’re both quick and subtle. If they see something important and worthwhile in a work’s style, it’s hard for me to dismiss the book or film as stoopid.
I have to admit, to my complete chagrin, that I’ve been thinking about style versus substance in exactly that way: an either/or proposition in which style is the enemy of substance. Style, in my mind, is all about surfaces, about looks. That world view isn’t just limited to books and movies, either: it’s an intellectual vanity that’s infected a lot of areas of my life. I suspect the root of this anti-style nose thumbing is envy. The truth is that I prefer attractive surfaces, in books, films, clothing, and material possessions. And people.
I would find it snobbish, not to say mean, if someone were to make fun of Molly Ivins because she’s not a raving beauty. Why would it be okay to mock Gisele Bundchen because she’s not an expert on national politics? Probably because I look more like Molly Ivins than Gisele Bundchen, and I know it. This all sounds terribly squishy and self-absorbed. But what’s interesting to me is how easy it is to make supposedly intellectual arguments for emotional reasons.
I don’t know if I’m ready to become a convert on the question of style versus substance, but I should probably think about calling off the jihad. What do you think?