A review of S02E06 of the American sitcome
'Til Death.
Enter gym manager. "Enter" being figurative, as it's really "exit." As in exit the gym, out the front door, at the end of the night. After the last of the gym patrons have ended their workout. There are two people out front still, as he's locking up. A man and a woman. Smoking cigarettes. Which is not really supposed to be happening in front of the gym, but the manager lets it happen. It's the end of another long day. The gym manager goes home, to another story. He's not involved in this one. In this one, the man and the woman remain.
We—the audience of this extended soap opera—have met each of these characters before. The man is Dennis. He's now married to Emelia, the editor of an unnamed magazine marketed toward women. We last saw him as a kid, years ago, when he was a good student in Grace's second-grade classroom. You could tell then and you can tell now that Dennis is a good egg. The woman talking to him and smoking a ciggy next to him is Kristine, who was first introduced via her admittedly jejune AIM conversation with an ex-boyfriend Trey. In my world, Kristine is married to her high school sweetheart Hunter (I was at the wedding), but in this world, the fictional world where everyone is obsessed with the American sitcome Til Death, Kristine lost touch with Hunter years ago, ended up having a baby with Trey, and then lost track of him too.
Dennis and Kristine are acquaintances, not friends. They only know each other from these meetings that they attend weekly. There is nary a spark of romance or even lust. That's not really something that happens at these meetings. Especially these specific meetings, here at the gym. Neither of them had ever heard of an AA meeting that takes place on treadmills and ellipticals. As far as I know, this might be the only place in the country that has them. A weird focus on fitness in this town. Alcoholics Anonymous—not sure if you've ever been to one, I've been to a few in my day, and can draw assumptions based on those few hours spent in church basements—is largely inclusive, and, as you might suspect, they typically draw a crowd that can barely walk up the damn steps without getting winded, let alone finding themselves in spitting distance of a goddamn treadmill.
Yes, yes, Dennis and Kristine are both alcoholics. Who isn't these days? Now that the stigma has largely been erased, there's even a way to wear it like a badge of honor, if you play your cards right. And if you're trying to stay sober, and you're hitting the gym, and you're talking to others about your problems and helping others with theirs and staying true to yourself and attempting to live your best life under the tough circumstances of this rough society that we live in? Well, goddamn. No reason to complain, I say.
If I had to describe the dynamic between these two characters, at least as we've seen them, here in front of this gym post-workout/AA on a weekly basis, I would probably say that Dennis is something of a mentor to Kristine. "Sponsor" I believe is the word typically used, though I didn't use it because neither one of them has said the word and Kristine hasn't even considered whether she even needs a sponsor at this point. But these weekly post-gym cig chats really do mostly consist of Kristine expressing some supplementary thoughts that she had during the AA sharing time and Dennis thoughtfully responding to them. Let's listen in for a moment or two.
"I think it just got to me, when Alan was talking about trying to give it away. That's what he kept saying, right? 'Give it away.'"
"That's a pretty well-established AA concept. How it's easier to handle the intense longing for the substance of choice but removing the focus from yourself and giving it away to others, to your community, you get it."
"Yeah, sure, I get it, but I think I just struggle with the underlying concept as it relates to me. It feels selfish, to give it away. If I keep the pain all for myself, then I'm protecting others, which is selfless. Right?"
"Ehhh, I think it's just the mothering instincts that you've built up since you had your little guy. How old is he now?"
"Seven."
"Wow. That's an age, ain't it?"
"Sure is. And you're probably right. I spend so much of my time trying to protect him from the world that we live in that I struggle with the idea of letting go of that role, of letting others protect me. It's tough."
"You're tough, is what it sounds like."
"Don't flatter me."
They both chuckle at this point, almost like there was an inside joke passed between them, but I missed it. A couple drags of their respective cigarettes in silence, then:
"You ever see the American sitcome Til Death?"
"Kristine, we talk about this every week. Everyone I know watches the show. I watch the show. Of course I watch the show."
"Okay, but you've seen the episode with the expensive wine bottle?"
"Jesus christ, I already see where you're going with this." Dennis is smirking as he says it though.
"Right. So tall guy... fuck I always forget his name. You know, the dude from that made-for-TV movie, the one with the guys in the stands of Wrigley Field? You know who I'm talking about. I think his name was Marvin in that movie. Oh, Bleacher Bums! But the tall guy. Tall Marvin."
"Got it."
"Marvin and his hot wife go to yet another birthday party that the piefucker creep is having for himself, co-hosted with character actress Kat Foster in the restaurant with one other guy plus five faceless extras who are facing away from the camera."
"I've seen it, Kristine, you don't need to explain the plot to me."
"Fine. So we get to the end of the episode, and everyone's interests have suddenly aligned, all the cards are on the table, the four main leads are about to make a fortune off some random expensive bottle of wine sold on eBay. They spend the episode jockeying with lies and deceit and self-centeredness, and when they all agree to collective lavish in the muck and mire of group foul play, the wine bottle is smashed, and their hopes at making a quick buck are snuffed out completely."
"You're about to ask what would have happened if they had continued to lie and deceive each other and allowed one victor."
"Exactly, would that victor still have that wine bottle, unsmashed?"
"I don't see that as the point, though. I think you have it backward. What if everyone had been truthful to each other the entire time? What then? They'd be sipping cocktails on the beaches of Greece together, instead of schlepping through another stressful Monday at dead-end jobs. But the truth takes courage sometimes."
"I hear you. I feel that courage in that room in there. Or, feel it in the gym, rather. Courage to share truth. I just don't see these Til Death characters as having that courage."
"That's the whole thing. That's the tension that creates humor. These are selfish bastards, and that's why the studio audience laughs—that they are selfish, that they meet their downfall because of that selfishness."
"Whereas if they gave themselves away, allowed their little community to flourish, then maybe they'd reach salvation, instead of sink into the pit of despair of your average American sitcome."
More silence, some more ciggy puffs into the night air. Then:
"Did you know Alan has 20 years sobriety this week?"
"Jeez, no I didn't. I'll be honest, sometimes I can't understand what he's saying."
"Well, it's tough, through the thick Texas drawl of his. Plus the whirl of the dozen or so treadmills all circled up."
"True."
"I'm just curious whether Alan watches Til Death."
"Everyone does!"
"Not everyone, Dennis. There are some holdouts. Maybe Alan is one of them. Maybe he arrived at his 'giving it away' conclusion through lived experience. What kind of horrors do you think Alan's seen? I know he mentioned something about a gnome, I almost didn't believe it. Just makes you wonder how people can hear this kind of thing and watch these types of TV shows and still continue to be selfish in their day-to-days. If you watched the wine bottle of episode of Til Death, how can you possibly live the same way? Wouldn't it make you sick?"
"Kristine, you're still not doing it. You're still not giving it away yourself. Try it sometime."
"Easy for you to say. That beautiful wife of yours waiting at home for you. And how many years sober now, eight?"
"You think that came easy for me?"
"I... no, I guess it didn't?"
"No, it didn't. Those are a hard-earned eight, Kristine. But I wake up every day, and I live, and then I go to sleep and wake up and do it all over again. And then I come here and hop on the elliptical and try to give it all away. The pain, the regret, all of it. We're all here together, putting all our pain in the collective pot, letting it sit there, handling that load all together."
"So the treadmills and ellipticals are a metaphor?"
Dennis chuckled. "It's all a metaphor, I think. You can even pretend that the figurative language is part of the giving-it-away, if you want."
"I don't know what I want."
After a while longer, they said brief goodbyes, and Kristine got into her car and drove away, lost in thought. Dennis hopped on his bike (like, actual bike, not stationary cycle), and took that long ride home to that loving and supportive wife of his. Neither story is over, but that's all we're privy to tonight. I know you might be thinking: well Wayne, that wasn't much of a story. What was the point? I hear you. What I'd propose to you now is that you should just be patient. You won't get all the answers in any single one of these pop-ins that I'm pulling back the curtain on. It takes time. But, like those diligent elliptical-riding alcoholics, if you keep showing up every day, you'll gradually see results. You put your whole self into this shit, and that's where the real change occurs. When you put your whole self into it, then we can handle that load together.
For now, let's give this episode a 5 pukes out of 5, and call it a night. See you next time. Maybe we'll check in with that gym manager, see what he's up to, and what he thinks about the great American sitcome Til Death.
