100 Favorite Shows: #56 — The Office (U.K.)
“A good idea is a good idea forever.”
It started out simple; it was just an office. On July 9, 2001 on BBC Two in the United Kingdom, the world of comedy changed irrevocably when The Office debuted. Created by Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant, The Office was a mockumentary comedy about the Wernham Hogg paper company in Slough. It was so revolutionary upon its debut that many were unsure if it was fiction or not, but what become quickly clear was that it was a big hit. In the U.K., it ran for just two seasons and twelve episodes before eventually returning in 2003 for a Christmas special send-off. Since then, it’s seen countless remakes in other countries, a massive lineage of influence, and a few revisits to the David Brent (Gervais) character, courtesy of Gervais’ reprisal of the role himself. With its incredibly dry and realistic depiction of a workplace in Berkshire, England, no one could have guessed it would result in the biggest television phenomenon of the 21st century. After all, it was just an office.
(Spoilers for The Office are in store. Mostly the British version, but better avoid it if you’re averse to spoilers for either iteration.)
“Look at Jeff Lamp. Forty-two and owns his own Porsche,” Gareth (Mackenzie Crook) scorns Dawn (Lucy Davis) in “Interview,” the original series finale of The Office. It comes as a warning from Gareth when he learns of Dawn’s plan to emigrate to the United States because, to Gareth, the paper industry is the peak of all businesses. Anyone who studies accounting or sales or marketing can hope for no better than Jeff Lamp, from Gareth’s perspective. He’s the peak of all paper.
For Gareth, Lamp is akin to a young basketball player modeling Stephen Curry’s three-point form or a political intern modeling their work after Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. The only difference, really, is that Lamp and Gareth are found across the pond, in Slough. It’s a city no one really strives to be in. Twenty miles (or thirty-two kilometers for you non-Americans) from London, Slough is a stop-over community. It’s where the most ambitious pass through and where those infatuated with paper find the rest of their lives.
A few characters want out of Slough, but this sentiment is primarily embodied by Tim (Martin Freeman) and Dawn. In “Training,” Dawn teases the idea of leaving Wernham Hogg after another quarrel with her fiancé, Lee (Joel Beckett), which prompts Tim to spiral out of his resigned comfort with his Hogg lot. At first, he’s just gazing out the window, contemplating life in Slough without his closest friend. It results in a burst of confidence as Tim stomps out of the Wernham Hogg training session, fed up with the monotony of the meeting and the insufferable behavior of David and Gareth. “I think I’m starting to know what that’s like,” Tim says when asked about how he’d react to a moment that went on and on with frustration only increasing. The reaction festers within Tim to the point where he ends up quitting in a huff, throwing out a vague, broken comment about a two weeks’ notice.
Tragically, though, Tim’s confidence goes too far as he marches back into the conference room and asks Dawn (who we had just seen reconcile with Lee, but Tim hadn’t) out for a drink. I could barely watch it. I had to fast forward to the end of the episode because I felt every muscle in my body tense. Nineteen years and endless cringe comedy derivatives later and the moment was just as affecting.
In “Interview,” Tim mulls over the idea of leaving Slough, but ultimately opts not to. He says he’s currently at a three in his life and another roll of the dice could result in him becoming a six, sure. But even more terrifying? It could put him at a one. For Tim, asking Dawn out for a drink is fifteen seconds of courage, which lead to such a crushing moment of regret that Tim never dares to pick the dice back up. A promotion? He’s got nothing to spend the extra money on. (Instead, the promotion to interim manager goes to Gareth, who immediately feels the power inebriate him.)
But a relationship? Tim’s a sensitive guy at heart and the chance of being happy with Dawn is the one thing that makes him pick up the six-sided fate finders once again. He admirably tries again in “Interview” before Dawn heads out to the States. The audience can see the bravery return when Tim provides a talking head for the documentary and remarks, “You can’t change circumstances.” Freeman’s delivery is a bit botched — there’s genuine stuttering at play — and it ultimately portrays Tim as a mundane man from Slough who happened to stumble upon vague profundity. When he realizes that there is one thing he could say to potentially change his own circumstances, he speeds down the hallway and asks Dawn out in the conference room. His mic is turned off and the reactions are seen only briefly through the blinds (yet another departure for the traditional framing of such a grand, romantic climax).
She said no, by the way. That’s what Tim tells us when he turns the mic pack back on. It didn’t matter whether the audience wanted to be reminded of the debilitating realism of one’s crush turning you down with a pitied hug. The realism is what The Office always thrived off of and that’s the note it was always going to strike. “A real relationship isn’t like a fairy tale,” Dawn tells the filmmakers when commenting on her obvious heartbreak at feeling like she needed to say no to Tim. She’s trapped in an engagement with a man who saw a proposal on Valentine’s Day as an opportunity to be thrifty, after all. And even she knows she’d be happier with Tim, too.
Dawn and Tim are not the only ones grappling with the idea of moving on from Wernham Hogg in “Interview.” David Brent is also preparing for the end, as he hams himself up for the camera for what he believes to be the final time. His “work here is done,” he says, in an initial attempt at justifying his own forced happiness. Brent continues, “My world does not end with these four walls. Slough’s a big place.” Going on to list the various other towns and hamlets in England, it’s clear that Brent isn’t so limiting as to restrict his future to Slough. But it’s also telling that Slough’s his first thought. Brent has no real ambition beyond the checkpoint of “be famous.” Even Slough famous would be enough for him.
The character of David Brent is an undeniably genius creation, even if the novelty has worn off over the years. When an “Inside Paper” reporter (Olivia Colman) pops by Wernham Hogg to interview David, he resorts back to the insufferable pseudo-entertainer we once thought had peaked with the initial introduction of the video cameras. The kind of guy who craves attention, Brent doesn’t even realize that an interview with probing questions from a reporter is a situation that’s all about him. He still forces her to ask questions within his own framing because it’s not enough to be paid attention to for David; he also wants others to see him as he sees himself: popular with a side of authoritative.
By the end of the episode and interview, Brent has transformed from willing martyr for his own career to a scared, pathetic former manager who begs for his job back to Neil (Patrick Baladi). Brent’s a good bloke, ultimately, but he’s not the kind you can be directly abrasive with. Neil avoids eye contact when he struggles to convey to David that his redundancy is final. For as much as Neil might have craved a moment to tell David off with the honesty he always dreamed of, he can’t bring himself to do it. Not when Brent is right in front of him with tears of anguish in his once flippant eyes.
It’s not as if David doesn’t deserve some sliver of the treatment. He tosses out “ipso facto” in every conversational chance he gets with the unearned bravado of a total wanker, he embarrasses himself constantly (Hotel Room 362 — enough said), and he thinks he’s an entertainer and a leader in equal measure, when he actually isn’t either. In the retrospective that aired ahead of the American Office’s series finale, Gervais spoke of the David Brent/Michael Scott figure by imitating fans who would cringe watching them and assuage their souls by saying they weren’t anything like him. “And then you are like him,” Gervais finished, illustrating that if Brent had watched the documentary back, even he would find a way to reframe his own detestable behavior.
In the U.S., Michael Scott had time to undergo a full redemption arc. But with just twelve episodes and a Christmas special, when Brent is ousted, he’s just gone (his one grace is that he’s objectively more intelligent than Michael). No fanfare, no well wishes. Wernham Hogg gets a new manager and Brent becomes a party anecdote at all the gatherings he’ll never be invited to attend or perform at. (As a former member of Foregone Conclusion, Brent was known to bust out the guitar from time to time at Wernham Hogg.)
The only one who’d maybe hook up with Brent again is the only one who appreciated him, Gareth. When David speaks, Gareth’s taking notes. When David sings, Gareth’s harmonizing. He’s quicker on his feet than David is, but still ceaselessly deferential to the man he believes was made to be his superior for a reason. It’s a testament to Gareth’s adoration of the military that he is perpetually deferring to those in charge, even if their authority is well worth questioning. (And Gareth has plenty of questions, especially related to a riddle with a farmer, a fox (that should be drowned), a chicken (that is a “super chicken”), a river, and a bag of grain.)
This warped boy scout persona (Gareth’s sense of humor finds sexual interjections like Oggy’s “Tits!” or “Go… nads!” to be the raunchiest form of comedy) allows for Tim to have a go at Gareth every day they work together. When he cheekily asks to see Gareth’s ass, Gareth scoffs and dismisses Tim with a wary, “No. Gay.” Tim’s secure enough to make jokes at Gareth’s expense without worrying about whatever preconceived expense Gareth sees levied at Tim, but Gareth is still stuck in the mindset of a middle schooler who is so desperate not to be bullied that he becomes the bully himself.
The best interaction between Tim and Gareth does come in the “Training” episode when the meeting leader, Rowan (Vincent Franklin), asks the room for their ultimate fantasies in the world. Gareth misses the initial batch of examples and, when prodded for his own, quickly quips, “Two lesbians probably — sisters. I’m just watching.” Tim is immediately delighted and asks to hear more, perhaps for the first time in their friendship.
Moments with guttural laughs like these were not common on The Office, but they were always appreciated. For as lively as the characters could be, the show was deftly capable of maintaining an almost over-the-top feeling of dryness to the show. The gray cabinets, tan slacks, and stacks of paper were enough to bore any viewer, which was the strongest point in favor of Gervais’ and Merchant’s genius. The vibe of The Office, with its low quality footage and drab setting, is akin to some of those old education documentaries that first began to probe the psychology of young students who’d now be in their forties and fifties. Considering how much of a departure the style of The Office was, it’s no surprise that the more cutting edge Brits took to the format immediately (even though some mistook it for a real documentary), quicker than the Americans ever did.
Of course, leave it to the Americans (I’m guilty and proud of it here) to obsess over the concept vastly more than the Brits, who were keen to move on after twelve installments, ever did. But even though I prefer the American version, I still harbor such reverence for the British version, which was beyond influential in the history of television. I mean, think of the massive comedy tree that stemmed from The Office! Parks and Recreation, American Vandal, Brooklyn Nine-Nine, The Good Place, Peep Show. That’s only the surface of the iceberg (situated in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean).
Despite all of its many descendants, The Office was also strongly influenced by the growing interest in workplace comedies and cringe comedies. Comedians like Garry Shandling helped set a stage for The Office to succeed, even though the workplace setting of a talk show was universally acknowledged as more intriguing than a paper company office. On paper, The Office is just a boring concept and, as Keith (Ewen MacIntosh) answers, “brainless.” It wasn’t a series that was meant to be anything more than this. Gervais and Merchant were always keen on realism.
There just must have been something in the holiday air when they decided to commit to a two-part Christmas special to bring The Office to a clearer conclusion than “Interview” did. Rather than trotting out the Wernham Hogg employees for another trip through the emotional, celestial ringer, however, they brought back David, Gareth, Tim, and Dawn for happy endings.
The Office, even when it pretended not to, had plenty of heart in every episode. Gareth’s flagrant desire to match the career trajectories of his ancestors. Tim and Dawn’s steadily eroding hope that there’s more to life than desks and paperwork. David’s desperation to escape a maze of loneliness. Each of these would have been more realistic to keep them yearning for, but when the intrinsic heart of The Office collided with the Christmas season, it was impossible to withhold the dreams anymore. Gareth is officially Wernham Hogg’s manager, Tim and Dawn share a kiss, and David cracks a joke — and gets a laugh. For these characters, the documentary interviews were enough to break up their day and provide some time wasters until it was time to go home. When the doc crew left, they relied on their connections with one another. In a workplace, a flirtation can get you through each day, as we saw Tim and Dawn find their hope in the four walls they were desperate to escape. An interview, a romance, a promotion. They get us through the day. For the David Brents among us, though, a laugh gets us through a lifetime.
