Television Monologues
Some of the most iconic monologues in television history.
One of the most iconic scripted television monologues (arguably, the most iconic and beloved TV speech) is Mad Men episode 1x13, “The Wheel,” in which we first see the true, irrefutable intensity in Don Draper’s advertising power. Even Saturday Night Live’s spoof on the monologue (wherein the cast pitched the concept of a hula hoop with suspenders) was brilliant. In the real speech, Draper pitches the ‘Carousel,’ a photo projection device that he demonstrates with his own pictures, telling a life’s story (no matter how fabricated or embellished) both visually and verbally, that literally brings one of his coworkers to tears, when he says, “Well, technology is a glittering lure. But there’s the rare occasion when the public can be engaged on a level beyond flash, if they have a sentimental bond with the product. My first job, I was in-house at a fur company, with this old pro copywriter. Greek, named Teddy. And Teddy told me the most important idea in advertising is ‘new.’ It creates an itch. You simply put your product in there as a kind of… calamine lotion. But he also talked about a deeper bond with the product: nostalgia. It’s delicate, but potent. Teddy told me that in Greek, ‘nostalgia’ literally means ‘the pain from an old wound.’ It’s a twinge in your heart, far more powerful than memory alone. This device isn’t a spaceship. It’s a time machine. It goes backwards, forwards. It takes us to a place where we ache to go again. It’s not called the ‘Wheel.’ It’s called a ‘Carousel.’ It lets us travel the way a child travels. Around and around, and back home again… to a place where we know we are loved.”
One of the more recent memorable monologues came in the first season of The Blacklist, during the episode that many super-fans consider to be the tipping point from liking the show to loving it. In 1x09 “Anslo Garrick, Part 1”, Agent Ressler is shot and bleeding out, ready to give up as he and Reddington are trapped in a box (literally) with no real promise of safety or upcoming rescue. When Ressler finally remarks that they’re “not gonna live through this,” Reddington gently argues the contrary, and asks, “Have you ever sailed across an ocean, Donald?” He waits for Ressler to say no before continuing. “On a sailboat surrounded by sea with no land insight, without even the possibility of sighting land for days to come. To stand at the helm of your destiny. I want that, one more time. I want to be in the Piazza del Campo in Siena, to feel the surge as ten racehorses go thundering by. I want another meal in Paris at L’Ambroisie in the Place des Vosges. I want another bottle of wine, and then another. I want the warmth of a woman in a cool set of sheets. One more night of jazz at the Vanguard. I want to stand on summits and smoke Cubans and feel the sun on my face for as long as I can. Walk on the Wall again. Climb the Tower. Ride the River. Stare at the frescos. I want to sit in the Garden and read one more good book. Most of all, I want to sleep. I want to sleep like I slept when I was a boy. Give me that… just one time. That’s why I won’t let that punk out there to get the best of me, let alone the last of me.” James Spader (who plays Reddington) gave a wonderful response to the monologue at Comic Con in 2014.
Up there with the Mad Men monologue is the opening scene from The Newsroom, wherein a young woman asks if three panelists at a university forum could say why America is the greatest country in the world. Sharon, the liberal panelist, says, “diversity and opportunity,” while Lewis, the conservative panelist says, “freedom and freedom.” They’re good, accurate answers, but that’s not the type of thing that Will McCallister can get behind. After a lot of prodding he finally answers with “It’s not the greatest country in the world,” before tearing apart the other panelists, and even the college student who asked the question. Finally, he ends with, “We sure used to be. We stood up for what was right! We fought for moral reasons, we passed and struck down laws for moral reasons. We waged wars on poverty, not poor people. We sacrificed, we cared about our neighbors, we put our money where our mouths were, and we never beat our chest. We built great big things, made ungodly technological advances, explored the universe, cured diseases, and cultivated the world’s greatest artists and the world’s greatest economy. We reached for the stars, and we acted like men. We aspired to intelligence; we didn’t belittle it; it didn’t make us feel inferior. We didn’t identify ourselves by who we voted for in the last election, and we didn’t scare so easy. And we were able to be all these things and do all these things because we were informed. By great men, men who were revered. The first step in solving any problem is recognizing there is one — America is not the greatest country in the world anymore.” He stops, turns to the moderator, and asks, “Enough?”
I’ve always prided myself on being able to differentiate what is right and what is fair and in turn sticking to the former whenever I judge a TV suspect. But like Jack McCoy, I faltered.
Unfortunately, Law & Order episode 14x09, “Compassion,” is old enough that there are no clips of this scene floating around on the internet. It comes with the defendant—a kind, pediatric oncologist, who finally just snapped and killed a con-man one day—being questioned by Jack McCoy one final time before closing arguments.
“[The murder victim] is in a wonderful place. It’s a paradise. I sent him there. And I did it for the children, to be with the children,” she says.
Jack McCoy brings out one of his famous, deadly, borderline “badgering the witness” rants when he asks, “Why didn’t you pack up your best-selling books, your awards, your degrees and hop on over to the other side? I mean, a medical professional with decades of experience has to be better qualified than a snake-oil salesman!”
“[The victim] made people feel better. I did not. I failed. They all died because I failed. I work and work and they still die… four year olds and six year olds and innocent little babies. They all leave this world alone without a mother or a father, without even a friend or a doll. And they were alone for so long, but they’re not anymore, because [the victim] is with them, and I… I can see them. They are happy and they are safe. Ask them. Oh, don’t be afraid, Mr. McCoy. Ask them. Henry will tell you. Isabel will tell you. Amy will tell you.” As she lists off the children, crying, Jack McCoy crumbles slightly, to the degree that only his coworkers and longtime viewers could tell, and asks the judge for a recess so that he can offer the doctor a plea deal that keeps her out of jail and instead under psychiatric care. I’ve always prided myself on being able to differentiate what is right and what is fair and in turn sticking to the former whenever I judge a TV suspect. But like Jack McCoy, I faltered.
In just the fourth episode of Scandal, Cyrus Bean delivers a speech to die for, when he tells the president that one of the woman that he slept with, Amanda, is pregnant. The president is shocked and immediately asks what their plan of action is going to be, what’s next, to which Cyrus lays back on the couch and responds, “What’s next? What’s next? Okay, here’s what happens next: you resign from office now. Or Amanda goes on TV, tells her sad, sordid tale, there are hearings, you’re impeached, and you’re forced to resign from office. Your Vice President a moronic, right-wing nut job who thinks the Tea Party was founded to lower the yacht tax and who also seems to not quite understand that evolution isn’t an idea but an actual fact, but who cares? We won the scary states in the election. They’ll have a party now that their grand wizard is President. I’m pretty sure I’ll never see a legal marriage and women will lose their right to choose, but hey, whatever. We’re all Republicans, even if the new president will give Republicans a bad name. You’ll leave in disgrace, go home to California, keep a low profile for a while, and then some fancy publishing house will pay you a fortune for a book, which you’ll write, only it won’t talk about what everyone really wants to know about; it won’t talk about your sordid affair with a White House aide. It’ll talk about policy and your thoughts on the economy, and it won’t sell because no one cares about your thoughts on policy and the economy anymore because you’re not the president anymore. What you are now is a joke on ‘Letterman.’ Mellie, a lovely woman, ambitious and strong, and, well, quite wealthy in her own right… she’s not gonna be circa 1998 Hillary on this. No, sirree. This is the 21st century. She’s gonna leave you and she’s gonna take your children with her, and everyone will applaud her, from the religious right to the women’s groups, because you’re a philandering pig who had a child out of wedlock, and we all know it’s true because we heard the tape. You’ll be alone in your house in Santa Barbara, listening to old records and telling the same story over and over again to the poor sap not smart enough to get out of being assigned to your secret service detail. Then one day, about, oh, three or four years from now, you’ll step into your bathroom, take out that revolver your father gave you when you were elected governor, you’ll put it in your mouth and you’ll blow the back of your skull off. Oprah’s retired now, so I guess I have to do a post-funeral interview with Barbara Walters. She’s nice. But, you know you just go back to writing your own speech. That’s important. That matters.”
Castle has (had) some of the best monologues on television, the result of retaining some of the best TV screenwriters. The pilot episode, “Flowers for Your Grave,” was the premiere instance, with Castle’s first attempt to break down some of Beckett’s walls.
“There’s always a story, always a chain of events that makes everything make sense,” Castle says, before pausing to consider Beckett. “Take you, for example. Under normal circumstances, you should not be here. Most smart, good-looking women become lawyers, not cops. And yet, here you are. Why?”
“I don’t know, Rick. You’re the novelist. You tell me.”
“Well you’re not bridge-and-tunnel, no trace of the boroughs when you talk, so that means Manhattan, that means money. You went to college, probably a pretty good one. You had options. Yeah, you had lots of options. More socially acceptable options. And you still chose this. That tells me… something happened. Not to you. No, you’re wounded, but you’re not that wounded. No, it was somebody you cared about. It was someone you loved. And you probably could’ve lived with that, but the person responsible was never caught. And that, Detective Beckett, is why you’re here.”
It is why she’s here, we soon find out in 1x05, but the way Beckett’s expression shifts, from sass and annoyance to pure anguish, with glassy eyes and a furrowed brow as the tough, unbreakable cop from a few minutes ago struggles just to keep her shit together, tells us all we need to know. “Cute trick, but don’t think you know me.” The producers have previously stated that this was the moment that they knew they’d made the right decision in casting Stana Katic.
…The way Beckett’s expression shifts, from sass and annoyance to pure anguish, with glassy eyes and a furrowed brow as the tough, unbreakable cop from a few minutes ago struggles just to keep her shit together, tells us all we need to know.
Grey’s Anatomy is well known for its many Meredith Grey voiceovers at the beginning and end of episodes, but episode 7x22, “Unaccompanied Minor,” will always stand out to me, as Meredith says, “There’s a reason I said I would be happy alone. It wasn’t cause I thought I’d be happy alone. It was because I thought if I loved someone and then it fell apart, I might not make it. It’s easier to be alone. Because what if you learn that you need love, and then you don’t have it? What if you like it and lean on it? What if you shape your life around it and then it falls apart? Can you even survive that kind of pain? Losing love is like organ damage. It’s like dying. The only difference is death ends. This? It could go on forever.”
These are just some of the wonderful television monologues out there, the ones that I’ve personally watched, listened to, and read enough that I have most of them memorized, to the degree that I will (and already have) recite them should someone ask (or not ask).
