viernes, 24 de abril de 2015

Grey’s Anatomy, TV shows and YES, sometimes the writers mess up

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Full disclosure: I haven’t seen Grey’s Anatomy in over two years. When they announced Cristina was leaving, I jumped ship. I didn’t even watch her final season. The show without Cristina didn’t make much sense to me. And yet, I never badmouthed the show or the writers. I didn’t tell people to stop watching. I adjusted my expectations …this was not about Meredith and Cristina, after all. This was, and had always been, about Meredith and Derek. That’s the story they were telling. And I was okay with that (even if I wasn’t that interested).

And then yesterday happened.

I haven’t watched the episode (and I won’t). I’ve been gloriously spoiled, and I’m glad. SO GLAD. I won’t shed any tears, because it’s been a while since I’ve been emotionally involved with this show. But, still, I feel kind of cheated, in a way. Betrayed. Hoodwinked.

When you start watching a TV show, or you read a book, or go watch a movie, you enter into a contract with the writers. It’s a vague thing, but it sort of goes like this: You can break my heart, and then put it back together again. I understand. I won’t ask you not to. All I ask is for you to be fair. I’ll take it…as long as the journey makes sense.

THIS? This doesn’t make sense.  

I’ve lived through worse fictional deaths than this one (Oh, Lupin, Lupin). At first, understanding is a poor comfort. But with space, and time, you start to get it. There was a reason. IT SUCKED, but there was a reason. You take a deep breath. You let it go.

(How do you let this one go?)

Sometimes you start telling a story and find that the story you thought you were telling is not the right one. Take Arrow, for example. They thought they were going to tell us the great love story of Oliver and Laurel, and yet, three seasons later, they’re telling another great love story and Laurel is nowhere to be seen. And we smile. We like it. They sold their story. It makes sense, so we nod and we not only accept it, we embrace it.

(We don’t accept Derek. We can’t.)

At the end of the day, it’s fictional, some people will say. It doesn’t make a big difference in the grand scheme of things. And yes, maybe it doesn’t. Or maybe it does. Maybe it’s just me who will never, ever again, watch anything that is associated with Shonda Rhimes. And yes, that’s personal. I have loved some episodes of Grey’s Anatomy, and I have cried, and I have enjoyed it. And maybe I still could have. With the right story.

(This was not the right story) 

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