Earn This

“Things wouldn’t be the same between us. We were getting older. And whether we wanted it or not, the Lisa Berlinis and the Kirk McCrays were changing us by the minute. All we could do was close our eyes and wish that the slow song would never end.”

- Kevin

The pilot of The Wonder Years ended with Winnie and Kevin in each other’s arms, sharing a completely intuitive moment of intimacy. The world was pushing them together through a shared moment of deep loss.

Dance With Me, the excellent conclusion to the show’s superior first season, also ends with Winnie and Kevin sharing a moment, but this time the world is pushing them apart. Their shared loss here isn’t a death of a loved one, but of innocence.

This finale had a lot of plot to cover in 23 minutes, more than any episode since the pilot. Kevin is friend-zoned by Lisa, misses his chance with Winnie, sees even Paul embracing the complex social world by the episode’s end, and has only one dance with Winnie to show for it. When you compare this to the previous two episodes — which covered a family dinner and a single phone call — Dance With Me feels a bit busy.

In particular, the first act felt a bit rushed as Lisa gets ejected from Kevin’s life within the first few minutes. (I will say, though, the way the show paused to drag out Lisa’s enunciation of “friend” was downright brilliant.) But it allowed the show to hurry and get back to the romantic interest that we know Kevin really cares about, Winnie.

But by the time the episode got to its halfway point, it fell into a rhythm. The last ten minutes or so were a string of great scenes one after another, some hysterical and some heartwarming. Every character gets a moment to shine, whether it’s the Arnolds’ dance lessons or Paul’s gradual acceptance of dancing with Carla.

And when it started digging deeper into the Kevin-Winnie relationship, the episode cut to some of the themes that have defined this season: Fleeting moments of shared understanding, the inevitability of loss, the terrifying passage of time, and how outmatched you can feel against the world as you’re gowing up.

On a side note, how great of a character is Paul? He’s absolutely hilarious, and actor Josh Saviano makes the most of his every moment: his funny lines about how he can’t see, his allergic reactions to Carla, and eventually his dance with her.

It’s overdue, but I also want to praise Alley Mills, who consistently shines as Kevin’s mom, Norma. I especially enjoyed her scene in the kitchen where she convinces Kevin to go to the dance. I enjoy her more as a smart, perceptive character than a whiny, overbearing one.

Dance With Me was an excellent way to wrap up this first season, full of great plot and character growth, funny writing, and an undercurrent of profound melancholy.

A couple other thoughts:

• The soundtrack for this show continues to shine, and the dance (along with the lessons beforehand) gives us plenty of great tracks ranging from Otis Redding to Steppenwolf.
• Dance With Me has some impeccable direction and editing: Aside from the aforementioned pause when Lisa friend-zones Kevin, I loved the cut from Norma saying Kevin can help her with dinner to him trying on dance outfits, the moment when we think Kevin is asking Winnie to dance but is really trying to make her jealous by asking someone else, and a few others.

Five episodes in, and The Wonder Years is batting a thousand. The Phone Call is not the best episode of the series yet — that’s either Swingers or Angel — but it again takes a small issue, packs it with significance and stakes, and brings it home with a poignant ending. If this is The Wonder Years formula, I’d be pleased.

Can we talk for a second about how well directed and edited this episode (and series in general) is? The writing is what I keep praising in these repsonses, but this show is also very strong technically and visually. This was the best-directed episode yet, full of well-framed shots and funny cuts from one scene to the next. My favorite technique this episode was the diagetic audio fading into background music whenever Kevin was overcome with a particular emotion.

I had been worried after the first episode that the show would be too melodramatic and too focused on cliffhangers. Perhaps the show will ultimately end up there (it’s hard to be great for six seasons), but for now I love its concentration on tiny battles that can seem massive in the moment for an adolescent.

Kevin’s love life has proven to be a potent vein for comedy, in part because romance has an inherent tension and in part because The Wonder Years has such solid writing for its fringe characters as well as its protagonists. I continue to love every second Paul is on screen, and Wayne’s delivery of “Hello, Buttface” was perfect.

But the biggest key to the show’s success has been tying each smaller battle into some larger war. The idea that adolescent drama, even something as small as a friendly phone call, can seem mammoth-sized is taken seriously, and a timely reference to Apollo 8 orbiting the moon gives Kevin a symbol to help him gain some perspective.

Another enjoyable episode in what is shaping to a be a fantastic first season of The Wonder Years. The first season finale is up next.

A few more thoughts on The Phone Call:

• Most episodes of The Wonder Years have been unpredictable, but here it wasn’t. Did any seasoned TV viewer really think Kevin would successfully make the call by 8:00?
• The brief fantasy sequence of Lisa taking Kevin’s phone call worked so well because it seemed real at first. By the time reporters were calling in, though, I was cracking up.
• What does Winnie think about Kevin’s infatuation with Lisa? We know that Kevin and Winnie have decided to take it slow after their special moment in the pilot, but does that mean both are okay with the other pursuing romance elsewhere?

Angel starts slowly, and, during the first two thirds of the episode, I found myself bothered by the voiceover for the first time. But by the time the credits rolled, Angel had evolved into a truly great episode of television, perhaps the best of the series yet.

The episode reminds us that, while The Wonder Years is largely about the coming of age of a small group of people, it’s also about the loss of innocence of an entire American generation. Karen’s boyfriend Louis forces the Arnold family to confront some difficult, liberal notions: That women can have fulfilling careers as well as men, that war is more pointless than it is heroic, that the government and media can manipulate their opinions.

And yet, Louis takes his liberalism too far. Aside from being a rude houseguest, he uses his open sexuality (or perhaps simply his college-guy horniness) to betray the intimacy that Karen thought he and she exclusively shared. The final moments are the most humanizing moments of the series yet for Karen, and the moments I’ve been waiting for: where the show treats her as a layered character the same way it does the rest of the main cast.

For awhile I was worried that Angel would end up a farcical affair, where Marissa was a sister or a close friend. But the show elevates beyond sitcom fare and reminds us that no worldview is perfect, no person perfect.

It’s just a shame that half the episode wraps Kevin up in a silly, seemingly irrational sibling protective complex. Paul is again excellent on the episode fringes, as is the increasingly-amusing Wayne, though I’m worried he’s turning into simple comic relief.

But those last eight minutes are so strong that I’m happy to forgive Angel its sins and thank it for helping us navigate the morally complicated world The Wonder Years presents and for giving Karen some humanity by episode’s end.

Taking a diversion from the Kevin-Winnie romance, “My Father’s Office” instead explores a character who had been marginalized during the first two episodes: Kevin’s dad, Jack.

All we had known from the first two episodes of The Wonder Years is that Jack is hard man. He’s impatient and assertive and comes home tired after every long day of work. I love Future Kevin’s analysis of Jack’s unwinding rituals, sitting in front of the TV and looking up at the stars, the latter of which is given more significance by the end of the episode.

We learn that Jack just fell into the job he has, that it’s unrewarding and tiring, and that there’s always someone hounding him. Kevin fancies his father as powerful and authoritative where Jack sees himself as mundane and pressured. Jack’s wife, Norma, seems to know barely more about Jack’s job than Kevin, so we know Jack isn’t getting much home support other than his peace and quiet in front of the TV or the telescope.

I really dug Kevin’s brief fantasy of power as Jack — forcing fictional workers (including a Wayne caricature) to take care of mundane tasks. But he learns by the end of the episode that real responsibility can mean taking accountability for unpleasant tasks, and taking blame when something goes wrong.

This bleak realization, that the work world is just as cold and unforgiving as Jack’s evening temperament, is countered by the nugget  of Jack’s romanticism left in him. After the worst days of work, he looks up to the stars — a beautiful image that ties nicely to his lost dream of being a captain. It echoes Kevin’s romantic ideals, and it shows us that Kevin might be destined to look at them through glass (as his father does) if he doesn’t reach for the stars.

Another excellent episode, and one that I hope signals the series taking closer looks at some of the supporting characters who have only had small moments here or there otherwise. Can’t wait for the Paul episode.

Wow, that was fantastic. Even better than the pilot.

In just two episodes, The Wonder Years has already started crafting a portrait of the complex, often paradoxical nature of growing up. The closing monologue hit the nail on the head where so many other coming of age tales stumble; growing up is not a linear process. There are “advances and retreats” and self-deceptions and nuances.

The opening scenes capture perfectly the strange, underrated dilemma of feeling the wrong emotion at the wrong time. In this case, it’s Kevin’s infatuation with Winnie clashing with the grief he knows he’s supposed to feel — and sort of does — about Brian’s death.

His brain tells him he should be sad right now, but his body tells him otherwise. And “Swingers” spends a bit of time contemplating the chasm between brain and body — particularly when it comes to sex. Everyone but Kevin and Paul can see that Wayne is bluffing when he says he already knows (or can “intuit”) everything he needs to about sex, but the talk — along with a perplexingly boring sex ed lesson — are enough to push Kevin and Paul to try and uncover what’s so mysterious and tantalizing about sex.

The plot ends with a punchline as Kevin’s mom scolds him, but the confusing combination of urges and pressures driving Kevin and Paul are genuine and well-earned. On an emotional level,  ”Swingers” is a very, very good follow-up that enriches an excellent pilot.

One thing I failed to mention in my recap of the pilot was how perfect the soundtrack is so far. One highlight is when Swingers starts with “For What It’s Worth” and a shot of a military graveyard, anonymous and terrifyingly orderly in its acknowledgment of mass death.

And one minor complaint I noticed in the pilot but failed to mention is also present in “Swingers:” The sporadic, silly use of special sound effects. The pilot used the sound of a fighter plane to literalize the aggression of the PE teacher, and here, we get a simulated skidding sound as Kevin and Paul rush in to the book store.

Speaking of Paul, he had another series of great small moments here, exercising boldness twice (once stealing the book, once trying to take it out of Kevin’s room after they’re caught). Wayne, for the amount he hassles our likable protaganist, is well-acted enough to be enjoyable.

Winnie, who was short-changed a bit in the pilot, is still kept pretty closed (and I’m starting to figure out that’s part of the point), but there’s some implied complexity that I hope the series explores as the series progresses.

I just watched the pilot for The Wonder Years on Netflix, and I thought it was fantastic, so I felt inspired to write a response to it here. This may be the only episode I write about, or I may do the entire series. You’ve been warned.

What I loved most about this pilot was the sense of melancholy and loss that permeates the entire episode. From the opening shot of grainy footage of the family innocently playing in their front yard, to the closing monologue about a long gone first kiss, The Wonder Years is about a loss of innocence from the beginning.

Of course the big plot twist is a literal loss: the death of Brian, the epitome of cool grown-uppedness. Kevin’s idealized version of middle school — where he wears purple pants and sits at the cool table — passes along with Brian. This plot development verifies what the opening suggests: loss of innocence will be the theme at the heart of this show.

If I have a complaint with the episode, it’s that it didn’t spend enough time establishing either Brian or Winnie, which prevented those closing minutes from having a real impact. I like the metaphor of Brian’s death, but as a character moment it felt unearned.

Winnie is a central character from the opening scenes but wasn’t given much to really define her. It’s implied by her make-over that she, like Kevin, hopes to use a new school as a chance for a new identity. But the writing never moves her beyond a piece of eye-candy for Kevin who seems normal and decent enough, and who shares a special moment with him.

Another character whose introduction felt lacking was Karen, Kevin’s older sister. I wasn’t around during the ’60s, so I don’t know how people really acted, but her character here seemed stereotypical and narrow. I’m hopeful she’ll receive adequate development as the series evolves.

But I can’t hold any of these character quibbles against the pilot when it had so much else going on, and so much of worked phenomenally. I love that the voice-over lends significance and tension to what might otherwise seem trivial. Grown-up Kevin does just the right amount of philosophizing even as he’s busy introducing us to the many characters.

I also admire that the pilot never paints strokes too broad. The details are specific, and funny, and moving. (Contrast that to the amusing, but overly broad That ’70s Show pilot.) We can see that from the opening lines alone: “1968. I was 12 years old. A lot happened that year. Denny McLain won 31 games, The Mod Squad hit the air, and I graduated from Hillcrest Elementary.”

It’s the details that really stand out — Paul is allergic to meat loaf and salad (he’s allergic to everything), the perfectly pathetic wrestling between Wayne and Kevin, Kevin’s narration of the tension when his dad gets home from work, the fact that Kevin had been planning his wardrobe for 6 weeks. This is pretty fantastic, entertaining writing all around.

It’s also worth noting that the pilot touches on plenty of taboo topics — Marijuana in schools, parents beating kids, birth control, and PE teachers weirdly obsessed with talking about kids’ bodies. Yet it treads these topics never in an exploitative way, but as just another fact of growing up in 1968.

As I revisit clips of the pilot, what stands out more than anything is what I mentioned first here: The tone, which blends melancholy, amusing, and — most of all — achingly nostalgic. These themes are captured wonderfully in the opening sequence that I hope they re-use in future episodes of home video footage of the characters with “A Little Help From My Friends” by Joe Cocker in the background. Perfect.

If most episodes can be at least half as thoughtful and poignant as this premier, this series will be a pleasure to watch.