‘Girls’ and the art of the final season
When HBO’s Girls begins its sixth and final season, the Lena Dunham vehicle will confront the challenges inherent with a self-imposed conclusion. By the time most shows reach a final season, the seams begin to show or the episodes feel more like committee-written fan service than another chapter of events.
As a show that often spurns formula (see: the Patrick Wilson episode from season 2) and remains specific and personal, Girls will likely avoid those pitfalls. Since its premiere in 2012, the show’s polarizing worldview has no doubt repelled many viewers; however, it is this cohesive, largely singular vision that will make the 10-episode conclusion all the more fascinating, particularly as it comments on work one final time.
The arc of most long-running programs, be they excellent, mediocre, or somewhere in between, is largely the same. In early episodes, the writers, actors, and other creators feel out the material in an effort to see what works and establish a tone. The best shows fall into a groove soon thereafter — sometimes as early as the second season — and ride out this momentum as long as they can. With few exceptions, momentum eventually stalls, which happens for any number of reasons: many sitcoms become too formulaic in terms of story or characters (Parks and Recreation), creators and show runners leave (Community), actors move on (Scrubs), or shows confront a combination of all three factors (The Office). Dramas contend with similar problems while also struggling to keep the stakes high after years of trying to outdo themselves in cliffhanger season finales.
To the diligent viewer, final seasons contain similar beats as well. In short, they feel like final seasons. It is impossible not to watch each episode through a lens of finality. Viewers know that the series has a dwindling amount of time to wrap things up both narratively and emotionally and this awareness colors how we watch. Every new character might be the final love interest with whom the protagonist ends up. Old characters return for their swan song. And where most seasons approach the diagetic world as one in which change is rare — particularly at work — final seasons often give main characters a new path in the form of promotions to “dream jobs.” Though this is not inherently bad, it does feel disingenuous more often than not.
Girls has always tackled two topics: relationships and work. The show’s overarching central conflict revolves around the long-term desire for satisfaction in each realm, coupled with a dearth of anything but short-term offerings of both. To that end, whether intentional or not, the show has presented a Marxist feminist point-of-view in regards to labor. In The Problem with Work: Feminism, Marxism, Antiwork Politics, and Postwork Imaginaries, Kathi Weeks outlines the ways in which work society dominates modern living and the problems that arise from this cultural mindset. She accuses popular culture of a “lack of interest in representing the daily grind of work routines,” choosing instead to highlight the “meaningfulness of commodities (2).”
Girls undoubtedly bucks this trend, as work routines feature prominently in the show’s storylines, whether Hannah’s time as a middle school teacher, Jessa’s job at a children’s clothing store, or Shoshanna’s post-graduation job search. Each character struggles to find meaning in a daily routine they do not see as a means to long-term satisfaction.
For example, Hannah admits that her job as an English teacher is a direct result of her failure as a writer. She considers being a teacher a fallback position and a job, not a career path. At the end of the school year, she tells her surprised principal that she won’t be coming back next year. Assuming she’s been hired elsewhere, he immediately begins to speculate where she will be working, demonstrating a labor-centric mindset. However, for better or worse, Hannah has no job lined up.
The extent to which any of the characters on Girls, especially Hannah, receive anything resembling closure may depend not only on Dunham’s insulated worldview, but also how she views herself. It is no secret that lines blur when trying to distinguish Hannah Horvath from Lena Dunham, even by her own admission. As such, the temptation to allow Hannah to receive personal and professional success after being on the precipice of each for five seasons may be too much to pass up.
The season five finale leaves both Marnie and Hannah on the verge of finding creative satisfaction — Marnie as she tours with Desi (and roadie/boyfriend Ray) and Hannah as she rekindles her on-again-off-again relationship with her writing. They have struggled with their creative outlets, both as professions and as hobbies, through five years, though each seems poised to come to peace with their pursuits. The means by which they achieve this peace — if they achieve it — will go a long way towards stamping the show’s final take on labor.
While the show’s contemporaneously pessimistic take on love and labor has always felt genuine — not to mention necessary — Girls may see its thesis statement as sufficiently written and allow itself to indulge in providing a happy ending of sorts. In terms of relationships, such a conclusion may be well-earned or even necessary in order to achieve an emotionally satisfying ending. However, any attempt at work-related closure would undoubtedly undercut the show’s sharp criticism of the job prospects avaliable to young adults. This sustained critique of labor conditions remains one of the strongest aspects of Girls and, as Weeks points out, a rarity in contemporary popular culture.
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