In Defence of Ross Geller
Over the last two decades, no greater harmony has swept across planet earth than a mutual disdain towards one upstanding bastion of good palaeontological practice. Israel-Palestine, North and South Korea, the Sunnis and Shias — all have put aside their differences to observe the cultish berating of hunky super-dad Ross Eustace Geller, PhD. No amount of governmental diplomacy could ever bring about such unity to the free world.
Such is the fervour of the hatred toward Ross, in fact, that David Schwimmer has retreated permanently to one of his LA compounds to continue his life in relative tranquility — though the curse of Ross Geller will always hang heavy over Schwimmer’s head. Schwimmer regularly wakes suddenly in the dead of night, scared and confused, sweat pouring from his now entirely gel-crusted hair. Schwimmer’s scream pierces the serene still of the night, he was dreaming of a better time.
Schwimmer hurriedly scrambles for his Nokia 2610. He needn’t dial, Jennifer Aniston’s number is permanently burnt onto the phone’s screen. Schwimmer waits, willing an answer. Aniston doesn’t answer. She changed sim during the harsh winter of ’05, in an effort to quell Brad Pitt’s constant barrage of texts. Schwimmer crumbles into a pile of despair, sobbing gently into that Frankie Says Relax t-shirt from Season 3 Episode 19, The One With The Tiny T-Shirt. “Classic ep”, Schwimmer remarks to himself, as he slips back into a deep sleep. His safe place, his happy place.
Ross Geller has left Schwimmer a shrivelled husk of a man, a brief google search will tell you that much. He’s dyed his hair blonde, for god’s sake. Ross, on the other hand, is so cool that the world-renowned entity of Buzzfeed have two separate lists commending his genius. It’s high time we appreciate Ross for his services to friendship, the commodification of coffee, and all things dinosaur. Strap yourselves in, ’cause it’s gonna be a heck of a ride, y’all.
Let’s talk context. Ross is the first born child of Jack and Judy Geller, who themselves are criminally underrated components of the Friend’s machine. Ross won numerous awards as a child, in spite of his constant grappling with puberty, presented across as many as six flashback episodes. Ross effortlessly parries an endless stream of haters trying to bring him down, a brutal mugging by a young Phoebe Buffay, and an unrelenting cycle of god-awful facial hair to achieve greatness at NYU — where he would later teach and develop a rather splendid British accent in ‘The One Where Joey Loses His Insurance’. A loving father and all round family man, Ross displays excellent acumen in rearing not just one, but two separate offspring, Ben and Emma, who I can only assume will grow up estranged from one another, before meeting in later life to create an incestuous power couple. Bemma. The living, breathing embodiment of the drug-addled and now four times divorced Ross Geller.
Some say Ross’ prolific divorce hit-rate is his undoing. A dude don’t get divorced three times without being a shitty guy, @xo_april68_xo argues on twitter. April has given into the hate, April is part of the unbearable animosity which has driven David Schwimmer’s hair from a glorious matte black into an over-milked tea beige. Let’s do the math. If memory serves, Ross’ dating history in chronological order reads something like this: Carol (first wife), Julie, Rachel, Chloe, Bonnie, Rachel (fleetingly), Emily (second wife), Rachel (third wife), Mona, Charlie and Rachel. Ross’ first marriage ends in divorce after Carol finds Susan, who herself is an incongruous parasite on the face of humanity. Ross later turns to the worst human being ever to grace existence, Emily Waltham. The less said about that one the better. The common denominator? Rachel Karen Green, with whom the Rossatron elopes during the gulf between seasons 5 and 6. Admittedly, it’s difficult to back the R-man up here. Rachel comes between Ross and Emily, but it’s hardly Rachel’s fault that Ross is as dangerously obsessive over her as Schwimmer undoubtedly is to huffing white spirit fumes in his Beverley Hills pad. Ross is so infatuated with Rachel that he chars his hands on a sizzling fajita pan — she rules his life, he is defined entirely in the context of Rachel.
What does this say about Ross? That he is an ultra-feminist intent on subverting expected societal norms. An inside agent throwing a spanner in the greasy inner workings of the patriarchal machine. Ross, an enemy to the grossly misogynistic activities of Joseph Francis Tribbiani, shows such boundless dedication to gender equality that he attempts to marry every woman he possibly can — acutely aware that all women are deserving of the love of Ross Geller. He devotes himself to womankind, and, in the same fell swoop, single-handedly finances New York’s troupe of divorce attorneys. His charity remains unparalleled.
The third leg of this three pronged defence of Ross Geller will focus on his array of hairstyles, which has probably been the target of the harshest criticism. Is it wet or is it crunchy? Rachel says it’s crunchy, Phoebe says it’s wet — but the latter will be the target of an equally contentious web article in the near future. Ross, unlike his troubled alter ego Schwimmer, owns the look. Ross looks fantastic from season one; the crew cut transforms effortlessly into a delicately pomaded wave in the second season. Ross’ lowest moment, the season seven crisis cut, transitioned into an flawless composition of spikes and twirls. A follicle triumph.
By comparison, Chandler Muriel Bing’s hair slips further into a self-destructive vicious circle the very moment Phoebe Buffay lays hands on it (season 2 episode 1), also coinciding with his own personal crisis, which eventually sees him marry overly-compulsive comedy vacuum Monica E. Geller-Bing, the lesser half of the Geller duopoly. Joey, constantly enveloped in a pool of self-delusion, is still being passed off as the hottest friend in season nine, by which point his own hair has entered a different dimension entirely. You’d have thought Crane and Kaufmann would have had the forethought to side-line Joey in season six as he started to pack on the pounds, replacing him with the rightful alpha male Ross Geller, or at a push, blonde bombshell Gunther Central Perk, for want of a suitable surname for the great man.
Years of research have led me to this very moment, as I sit furiously typing amongst a bustle of students in Templeman Library, Canterbury, Kent. I have long chartered Ross’ movements in the background of shots, learning his habits; his quiet appreciation of delicate French confectionary, a love for small marsupial species, a resentment of those who tip poorly, a long standing feud with all regional condom manufacturers. Ross has engulfed me, and, much like the dishevelled husk formally known as David Schwimmer, he has destroyed me. I must retire to my quarters now, as I prepare a two page tirade on the nuances of beloved eccentric Janice Hosenstein.
13/05/18.
