Soft Opinions

Sometimes our convictions aren’t as deep as we think. Sometimes our convictions are soft. Sometimes they’re soft without us even being aware of how soft they are.

Let me tell you a story.

A Christmas Tale

One episode of Picket Fences, written by David E. Kelley, began at a school recital at the small and harmless town of Rome, Wisconsin. The teacher, Louise Talbot, is rehearsing the nativity scene with the kids towards the upcoming Christmas pageant. She’s playing the Virgin Mary. The police comes in, uncomfortably forced to enforce a court order to stop the rehearsals and to stop the show. It’s no longer legal to have religious content on public property.

Louise, who’s been one of the best teachers in the school for the last nine years, thinks it’s ridiculous and refuses to stop. The sheriff is then forced to arrest her and bring her before the town judge. The judge releases her and explains to the townspeople why they can’t have their pageant the way it’s always been done. He suggests, however, doing it on property that’s not public.

But now that Louise in the system, her fingerprints turn out to be the fingerprints of a man who’s been missing for quite a few years. It turns out, and Louise can no longer deny it, that she used to be a man. She had spent a couple of years dressed as a woman, then had a sex-change operation.

The school board is flabbergasted. They summon Louise to answer some questions. She appears, and with the help of a friend, shames them for thinking what they’re thinking to do. The day is almost won, but Jimmy Brock, the sheriff and a member on the board, turns the tables on Louise (classic Kelley) and shows everyone how she, by definition, has to be mentally unstable. So how can she teach our kids?

Louise is soon fired. She sues the school, and we head back to court. The judge (there’s only one judge in the small town) reverses the school board’s decision for being blatantly bigoted. The rehearsals for the nativity scene continue with Louise still as the Virgin Mary. But now that the news is out, parents come to the class and pull their kids from the pageant. Louise doesn’t want to, but relinquishes her role in the pageant so that the kids may have theirs.

The pageant, then, continues as planned. When the nativity scene arrives, the kids change the text, and talk about how the kids don’t want to live in their parents’ bigoted world. They refuse to accept the bigotry, they say, and invite Louise back to the stage. Their speech is moving, and in an emotional scene Louise walks out from the audience and stands on the stage. A few grownups in the audience begin to stand and clap. Slowly, more and more grownups stand up. A few more grownups look around, and they come to their feet and clap, too.

Now... you get that, right? You can understand people looking around, seeing that it’s okay with everyone else, and getting up as well. Seems natural, doesn’t it?

Soft Opinions

The thing is that these are the same people who only a few moments ago were sure that this was a line that could never and must never be broken. And when they saw that many other people accepted the new circumstances, they immediately saw that there was no real harm. Their opinions seemed to be hardnosed and steadfast convictions. But as soon as the rest of the people didn’t agree, the convictions behind the opinions vanished.

Sure, it’s a TV show and it didn’t happen in real life. But their behavior probably seemed natural to you as I told you the story (and certainly if you saw the episode). It’s easy to believe, because that’s how most people would behave.

So: How many of your convictions are soft? How many things you consider are lines in the sand are actually lines in the sand on the beach? One wave, and they’re gone.

Make a List

Test yourself: What convictions, what issues, what opinions do you hold that you’re certain of? What would you fight for? Make a list. Then look at the list and as you go down the list, issue by issue, imagine that everyone you know suddenly believes in the opposite.

How many of these positions would you keep? How many of these issues would you still believe? Which of your opinions are soft and would change if everyone else’s opinion changed? Which of your opinions would never change no matter what everyone else thought? Which opinions would you really fight for?

It’s election time. Time for real opinions, not soft ones. Now, seriously, go make that list.

Forcing Us to Think (Again)

Every so often we’re going to come back to a theme we’ve talked about before. Some ideas are worth it.

Now we’re on David E. Kelley fairness watch. Here is our first. Now it’s time for the second.

David E. Kelley Fairness Watch

David E. Kelley is the only writer today who is able to write one side of an argument (say, in a court drama like Boston Legal) in such a convincing way that the viewers agree with that side, know they’re going to win, and certain that there are no strong counter-arguments. Then Kelley lets the other side speak, and when that lawyer’s done, the viewers are equally certain that his/her side’s case is completely right.

This forces the viewers to think. With equally-strong and powerful arguments on both sides, the outcome is uncertain. And our brain works more than we think it does when watching TV, imagining what could happen, what would happen, and why.

Here are two examples from a recent Boston Legal episode.

YouTube

Clarence, who works for the firm and sometimes dresses as a woman was caught on tape, dressed as a woman, screaming at some guy and going absolutely nuts. That footage is then put on YouTube, to Clarence’s chagrin. Clarence sues YouTube for defamation.

And so, they go to court. There the judge appears with a helmet on his head, to everyone’s amazement. A red helmet with a white stripe.

“Before we begin,” the judge says, “some of you may or may not have noticed that I’m wearing protective head gear. I sustained a small wound while gardening. My doctor advised to take conservative precautions until the stitches are removed. Please pay no attention.” With that out of the way, the case begins.

The first thing YouTube’s lawyer does is make sure whether the footage fairly and accurately depict what happened? And it does. There is no doubt about that. Clarence takes the stand, and, as a lawyer, is forced to admit that the law expressly protects internet sites “from online defamation liability arising from material posting on their sites by individuals.”

The issue is clear. The law is clear. Clarence admits the footage was not doctored. What you see is what really happened. And the law protects sites like YouTube. Clear-cut and simple, isn’t it?

Now it’s Clarence’s lawyer’s turn to speak. “Your honor, this was an extremely embarrassing event, aired world-wide on a website, absent the context that occasioned it.”

The helmeted judge does not understand. “The footage depicts what happened. So where’s the damage?’

“Your honor, think of it. We’ve all had a meltdown or two. A mortifying episode or two. Typically, we’re allowed to live those moments down. But now thanks to the internet, we can’t. Suppose,” he produces a handheld video camera, and points it at the judge, “I taped you as ‘Justice Bauble Head’.”

“Put that thing down!” the Judge is beside himself.

“How would you like to be defined—” he continues to tape.

“Put it down this instant!”

He puts the camera down and turns it off. He then takes a breath and starts calmly, “My point is: Life’s little embarrassing moments are now having far-reaching and more devastating consequences. If the day has come that we are going to be publicly and globally shamed by our foolish missteps, then the laws of defamation should keep pace. Certainly when these tort laws were drafted, the legislators never contemplated YouTube.”

And he sits down.

Do you know who’s going to win now? Even if you think you know who’s right, Kelley phrased the positions in such a way as to make them equal: Will the judge go with the law and decide against Clarence, or will the judge decide to go against the law because the law is wrong? You don’t know. But you’ll think about it.

The Racist Cop

In the same episode, the firm has another case. A policeman shot an unarmed black man, who fit the description of a suspect. The policeman says he was reaching for what appeared to be a weapon. But in truth, he reached for something else. In addition, the policeman has a history of erroneously shooting black men, and to top it off, when the D.A. tests the policeman under an MRI, it turns out that his brain responds with more violent emotions when he sees a black than when he sees a white man.

With the case drawing to a close, the prosecution speaks first: “Policemen do tough work, dangerous work. The cities across this country seem to grow more and more dangerous. That is a reality. But here’s another reality. African-Americans have been targeted disproportionately in both arrests and excessive force. Blacks comprise 13% percent of our population, yet 44% of our prison population. And how many times do you have to turn on the news and see that yet another innocent, unarmed black man has been shot dead by the police before we say ‘enough’? Eight times he shot him! Even his partner, who is also his friend, called the shooting reckless. Was it an honest mistake? Yeah, sure, like the last time he mistakenly shot an unarmed black man. How many mistakes can we allow him? Do we keep tolerating these executions or not?”

And the prosecution sits down. So, does the defense even have a case? And even if it does have a case, it can’t be equally as good, can it? All the facts are in.

The defense speaks: “The victim matched the description of the armed suspect. He raised his hand with something metallic in it. It looked like a gun. My client reacted. The District Attorney did not offer even one witness to dispute that. Instead, he gave you a brain scan. The police can now take our blood, our hair, our DNA. They can make us give handwriting samples, voice patterns. They can check our computers to see what interests us, our GPS’s to see where we’ve been. And today they’re introducing scans to show our feelings. Where does this stop? And let’s assume these MRI’s really can show that my client feared black people more than whites. So what? The law has to distinguish between thought and deed. The Supreme Court is doing away with warrants. Our administration eavesdrops on all of us. Are we really going to allow this government to unleash the thought police? Are we that scared? We must be. Because today the prosecution is trying to convict a man of murder with nothing more than an MRI. God help us.”

So... Who do you think won this one? What would you vote if you were sitting in the jury?

One thing is certain: Your brain thought about it whether you wanted it to or not.

When People Think For Themselves

We’ve talked about how a large part of David E. Kelly’s humor forces the viewers to think, whether they want to or not. Now we’re going to talk about how his drama forces the viewers to think, whether they want to or not.

The Courtroom

One of the things that sets Kelley apart as a writer of TV court dramas is his ability to present both sides equally, without prejudice. This is how he usually does it in like L.A. Law, Picket Fences, Boston Legal, The Practice, and even, occasionally, Chicago Hope: When it’s time for the jury to decide, one side stands up, and gives his case. The case is so convincing and clear and simple that we, the viewers, think that that’s it, it’s a done deal, he’s going to win, the jury’s going to go this way, and there is nothing the other side can say that can save the day.

Then the lawyer for the other side stands up and presents his case. And by the time he’s done, the viewer thinks: That’s it, he’s right, it’s a done deal, he’s going to win, the jury’s going to vote his way.

Very few writers can pull that off. And, of course, the viewers remember that they said they same thing a couple of minutes ago about the other side. This forces them to think for themselves, to weigh both sides, to make up their own minds which way the jury will go and which way they would go. When both sides are given the best representation, it’s up to us to do the thinking. Usually, writers chew the conclusion for us and give us conclusions they hope we'll share. Less thinking is involved.

The ability to think for yourself to Kelley, perhaps, is more important than the fact that you reach the conclusion he agrees with.

Kelley doesn’t always do this, but more often than not, he does. Here are two examples from the third episode of this season’s Boston Legal:

Cockfighting

The firm’s client, Miguel Obisbo, has been charged with cockfighting, and he admits to it. The time has come to put it to the jury.

The prosecution gets up and says: “It’s not just that it’s against the law. It’s indecent, barbaric, inhumane. Two chickens – roosters, I should say – are thrown in a pit and forced to do battle until one loses consciousness due to blood loss, at which point the other pecks its head off. It’s sick. And this man openly, notoriously, broke the law to commit a sick, sick crime, one he admits committing. Just having a nun translate for you,” he refers to one of the defense lawyers’ tricks, “doesn’t put you on the side of the angels.”

And with that, he sits down.

Now it’s the defense’s turn: “Ever realize chickens are smarter than dogs? Much, much smarter than horses. And we call them ‘fowl’. How sad that the chicken by far is the most abused animal on the planet, raised in crates less than a square foot, the ends of their beaks snapped off after hatching, pumped up with antibiotics to keep them alive in conditions that would otherwise kill them, genetically altered so that they grow twice as fast, sent off to the slaughterhouse after only 6 weeks of living – typically in open crates where millions of them either freeze to death or get baked alive. The ones who do arrive undead are scalded to defeather them. Then they’re hung upside down and electrocuted just enough so that they don’t flap around when they’re getting their throats slit. It’s not good to be a chicken.

“Now, the cockfighters, they get real food. They get real room to move. They’re often loved as pets. They get at least two good years before they’re even asked to do combat. And if he’s a really good fighter, he gets to retire, to stud service, where he can live the life of... Denny Crane,” he points to Denny. Then he returns to the jury, “The simple truth is that if the chickens in this country hope to be afforded a modicum of dignity, he has to fight. Studies show they might actually enjoy it.

“Now, I suppose you could find my client guilty, because technically he broke the law, which screams out with hypocrisy. Or you could say, ‘Wait a second; Miguel Obisbo offers chickens a better life.’ Miguel Obisbo now trusts you to be... humane. Not just for his sake, but for the chickens’.”

So... Who do you think won?

Abstinence Only

Notice, by the way, that in the last example and the next, Kelley never talks down to us. The sentences and the arguments are intelligent and thoughtful and... long. The reason we follow them, the reason they’re not boring, as conventional TV wisdom would have us believe, is that each statement advances our heroes’ success or causes one step closer to their plight. So as long as he sticks to the merits of the case and as long as the points are convincing, he keeps our attention.

Moving on: 15-year-old Abby Holt has had unprotected sex and gotten the HIV virus. She is now suing her school, for having taught ‘abstinence only’ rather than teaching her to use condoms.

The school’s lawyer stands up to give his closing argument:

“Your honor, I think we all agree that fifteen is too young to be having sex. Is there anyone here who takes issue with that? Sometimes, when the right answer is ‘no’, you say ‘no’. You don’t start tinkering with morality to coincide with logistics. Kids need to hear ‘no’, not ‘here’s how, just in case’, but ‘no’.

“Abstinence was the right answer here. If she hadn’t had sex, she wouldn’t be HIV positive. And even if you are so determined to opt for pragmatism, abstinence is still the right answer. Since the implementation of this policy, the teen pregnancy rate has gone down 30%. More and more kids are choosing not to have sex, and that’s good. Whether they get sick or pregnant or not.

“And if parents disagree, by the way, they can choose to teach their kids about condoms and birth-control pills and diaphragms. But once the schools start doing so... Come on, you’re explicitly telling the kids it’s expected of them to be sexually active. And many start doing so because they feel all their friends are. Sure, you can pass out condoms. But it is simply more responsible, more moral, and, yes, more safe to practice abstinence. That’s what we should be telling them. And this school is.”

The school is not responsible for the girl getting HIV, is it?

Alan Shore gets up to give his closing:

“This case isn’t about teenage pregnancy. She didn’t get pregnant, she got HIV. I can see why you’d want to make it about teenage pregnancy, since... Well, actually, I can’t. The United States has the worst teenage pregnancy rate of any industrialized nation. And contrary to what Mr. Jovanka would like us to believe, there’s no evidence whatsoever that suggests using condoms or teaching students about condoms makes them any more inclined to have sex. None. They’re already inclined to have sex, since early puberty. They’re simply going to do it. We all do it. Birds do it, bees do it, educated fleas do it. One day, your honor, even you...” At which point the judge angrily uses his gavel.

Shore recovers, “Yes.” Then he continues: “The fact is, this case has nothing to do with the efficacy of abstinence-only programs. This case is about religion, politics, and federal funding. Our present administration, in blind service to the religious right, has transcended the separation of church and state, and consistently implemented a faith-based political and moral mandate. And now that same policy has been passed on to our educational system. If schools teach ‘abstinence only’, they get federal funding. If they teach any other type of sex education, they don’t. And as a result, the students in these ‘abstinence only’ programs aren’t being taught the truth about that magnificent technological marvel, the condom.

“It’s not a dirty word, your honor: condoms. They first came on the scene some 3,000 years ago in Egypt. For centuries they went merrily along, in modified forms, warding off syphilis, gonorrhea, preventing unplanned pregnancies, until science and medicine eventually caught on, and the pill became a much more effective, less intrusive contraceptive. Penicillin and other antibiotics were miracle cures for gonorrhea and syphilis. The poor, humble condom languished.

“And then came AIDS. This terrifying new disease that panicked the world. For many years it has been fatal, gruesomely so in every case. There was no vaccine, no cure, no treatment. But there were condoms, and they worked. They were safe, time-tested, easy to use, and they protected both partners. The condom is arguably the single, most important invention of the past 2,000 years. In fact, it has been said, without exaggeration, that the health of the world depends on them.

“Now, one would think that the obvious choice would be for schools to tell their students as much. But Abby’s school, indeed all schools that have chosen ‘abstinence only’ have chosen to lie. They teach that condoms are ineffective at preventing pregnancies, which is a lie; they teach that condoms are ineffective at preventing diseases, which is a lie; some of the literature actually compares using a condom to playing Russian roulette, which is frightening, despicable, unforgivable lie.”

“Abby Holt has HIV which, in all likelihood, will develop into AIDS. We’ve sort of forgotten about AIDS in this country. Treatments have improved dramatically. Drugs are keeping people alive for many years after they’ve become infected. But the grim butcher’s bill for this pandemic still keeps growing and growing. Sixty-five million people worldwide have become infected. One time, unprotected sex can kill you. A condom can save you. It is inconceivable that every child in the world isn’t taught that. We should be in criminal court this very moment trying this obscenely duplicitous school for conspiracy to commit murder!

“But frankly, I have no stomach for that. I think of the horror that has been inflicted on this 15-year-old girl, and I’m just so profoundly sad. I can point out the evils of this corrupt system, I can tell you how effective condoms are, the lives they save, on and on and on and on, but words seem to be these hollow, useless things rattling around in this courtroom, because ultimately the lies this school told Abby Holt may... will probably kill her. They have certainly altered her life forever. And in the face of that, all I can think of is... Why?”

And, with that, he sits down.

So... who do you think won?

Planting an Idea

In the last example, Kelley did one more thing. He used the argument to create an idea in our heads that probably wasn’t there before: that 'abstinence only' is akin to murder. It doesn’t really matter who wins, now, because there’s an idea in our head now that wasn’t there before. And it’s an idea we probably won’t easily forget.

And that’s how writers try to change the world.

Truth-Telling

If the truth is uncomfortable, the American audience would much rather not hear it.

Truth that’s uncomfortable? Truth that’s unseemly? Truth that’s ugly? I’d prefer a story with a happy ending, thank you.

The two top TV writers over the last couple of decades, David E. Kelly and Aaron Sorkin, have had unique relationships with truth-telling. Let’s take a look.

Sorkin and truth-telling

Sorkin had Toby. In The West Wing, Toby was the truth-teller. And quite early in the series, he justly calls himself “the kid in the class with his hand raised that nobody wants the teacher to call.”

Toby was the guy who said the bad things out loud, because he couldn’t stomach lies or self-delusion. Toby stared the truth in the face even when it hurt him.

The first time we saw Toby’s inability to keep his mouth shut was in the middle of a basketball game with the president of the United States, “Oh, this is perfect, you know that? This is a perfect metaphor. After you're gone, and the poets write, 'The Legend of Josiah Bartlet,' let them write you as a tragic figure, sir. Let the poets write that he had the tools of greatness, but the voices of his better angels was shouted down by his obsessive need to win.”

How many people in life do you know who will tell you your faults to your face? Are they loved? Are they shunned?

When Toby’s twins are born, Toby shares his feelings with Leo.

“I don't know,” he says. “For nine months, you're hearing how this is gonna change your life, and ‘You've never loved anything like this’, and ‘My God, the love’ and ‘Nothing's gonna be important any more.’ It just never really felt to me like I was someone who had the capacity for those feelings. Plus, you know, I like what's important to me. I want it to stay important. I want to be able to do it well.”

Leo says, “What do you mean, you don't have the capacity? Of course you're gonna be a great father. Of course you're gonna love your kids the way you're supposed to, the way other fathers—”

Toby interrupts him, “My God, Leo, we look around, we see that's not true. It's not automatic.”

Some parents don’t love their kids, and Toby knows that. Some parents treat their kids horribly, and Toby knows that. Some mothers feel bad that they don’t love their kids right away, not knowing it’s a process, and that it takes time. Toby doesn’t fall for that and even dares to admit that he is very different from what a father is supposed to be.

Another time, the president and Josh were shot. The president was all right, but Josh’s condition was critical. It was iffy if he would make it out of surgery.

Donna, Josh’s assistant who cares deeply for him, rushes in to the hospital, only knowing the president’s been shot. In a room full of friends, only Toby speaks, and says, “Donna. Josh was hit.”

“Hit with what?” Donna says.

Toby: “He was shot--in the chest.”

C.J. adds, “He's in surgery right now.”

Donna is in shock. “I don't understand. I don't understand, is -- is it serious?”

And the truth-teller gives it to her straight, without sugarcoating it, “Yes, it's critical. The bullet collapsed his lung and damaged a major artery.”

How many people do you know who don’t – and won’t – sugarcoat the awful truth for us?

Sorkin, of course, also knows how to make fun of it when he wants to. Because Toby isn’t only a truth-teller, he is a pessimist. Andy, Toby’s ex-wife, now pregnant with his child, says that she’s worried about how Toby will raise the kids.

“I do worry about the kids,” she tells him. “Because instead of showing them that the world is for them, you're going to be telling them that they have to work hard in school so they can bone up for a life of hopelessness and despair.”

Toby, not backing down, responds, “Wouldn't it be ironic if our kids were the only ones who were properly prepared?”

When Sorkin left the series after four seasons, Toby stopped being the truth-teller.

Kelley and truth-telling

Kelley’s palette of truth-telling is greater than Sorkin’s. Whereas Sorkin, in writing The West Wing, Sports Night, and Studio 60 only had Toby as a truth-teller, almost all of Kelley’s characters are truth-tellers at quite a few points of their lives.

But Kelly does us one better than that. He doesn’t let the need for everything to be resolved well get in his way. Whereas Sorkin ended the scene quoted above (in which Toby shared his worries about his being a bad father) on the best side possible (Leo tells Toby, “I’m not talking about everybody. I’m talking about you and I’m telling ya, it’s a mortal lock. It’s guaranteed”), Kelly tends to do the opposite.

One time, in Chicago Hope, Alan Birch, the hospital’s lawyer, appears before a committee that holds the future of Chicago Hope in its hands. It doesn’t go well. He gets blindsided and his ass is handed to him. When he comes back to the hospital to prepare for the next session, Dr. Phillip Waters, his boss, reads him the riot act. Later on, Birch appears before the committee prepared, legally beats the aggressive committee to a pulp, and wins the day.

That evening, Dr. Waters comes to Birch’s room, to mollify matters (as usually happens in most American shows). Birch is busy working. I get it, he says. I’ve proven myself a hundred times before, and yet every day I have to prove myself to you as if I’m starting from zero. I get it. You would never have treated any of the surgeons this way. I get it. I’m not one of the guys. I get it. I’m just your lawyer.

And as Birch says these things, he leads Dr. Waters out of the room. For a second, Waters is standing with his back to the open door. He opens his mouth and turns around, only to find the door gently closing in his face.

He then leaves.

Birch was right, and David E. Kelley wouldn’t write a sappy ending just because it's the expected thing to do. Any other writer on any other show would have let Walters come into the room again and ‘explain’ things and show how everything is actually okay. But it isn't. Kelley leaves the painful truth hanging there, for us to see and feel.

Kelley in his truth-telling, does us even one better than that: He goes out and seeks the truth, showing us what really exists behind our actions.

Here are a couple of secrets that Kelley outed during his run on Picket Fences.

One time, Jimmy Brock, the sheriff, and Jill Brock, his wife and a doctor, are having Jill’s father over along with Max, one of Jimmy’s deputies, for dinner. Jill’s father, a professor, keeps making jokes at Max about the ineptness of policemen. The great career as a surgeon that Jill had given up to live as a doctor in this town is also mentioned in passing.

Spirits are heated and things are said. Jill’s father accuses Jill of having grown distant from him, of never calling, of never talking the way they used to. When things get more heated, Jimmy tells him that it’s all his fault. The second Jill met Jimmy, she started to feel her father’s lack of acceptance. Jimmy’s not the intellectual she deserves; he’s a stupid policeman; she could do better. And that, says Jimmy, is why Jill grew distant from you.

Jill’s father is shocked. He turns to Jill and asks her, Is that true? Did you feel that way?

Jill, feeling like a little girl, nods.

Jill’s father then turns to Jimmy. I can’t argue with what she feels, he says, but she didn’t get it from me. I think you’re the exception to the rule, he continues, you’re one of the bravest and smartest men I’ve ever met. Whatever it is that’s going on here, it doesn’t come from me.

Jimmy’s eyes move from Jill’s father to Jill. He’s right, he says. It does come from you. It’s always come from you.

And he’s right. The disapproval Jill ‘picked up on’ came from her and from her own judgments of Jimmy, the man she eventually married. And she kept feeling like this all these years. And that’s an ugly and terrible truth for a married couple to learn. (And if you want to know what happened next, watch the series.)

Another time, Jimmy’s ex-wife comes to town with a surprise: She wants to have another kid, and she’s been trying to get pregnant for quite a while. Unfortunately, it turns out that she has a special genetic disease that allows her to conceive only with genetically-compatible men - only one out of about 75,000 men is a viable candidate (“And how many have you tried?” asks Jill.) And so it turns out that by a freak coincidence Jimmy is one of those men (since they have already had a daughter, Kimberly, who is now a teenager). And she wants his sperm.

Jimmy’s ex doesn’t even want to have sex with him. A few years ago, they had frozen his sperm. She just wants his okay.

When Jimmy says no, she looks at him, squints her eyes, and says, You know what, I don’t need your approval, I’m going to do it.

As you can guess, a big brouhaha ensues, at the end of which she decides not to go through with her plan. But then, standing by her daughter near her car, she admits her true motive: With Kimberly going to college soon, she won’t have a reason any more to come and be in Jimmy’s life. And she wanted and needed a reason to still be around. She is, after all those years, still in love with him.

Now, who else would tell you such truths?

Where the Soul Is

Hollywood has a bad reputation for quality. And, more often than not, it’s justified. But the truth is that there are gems out there, and there are writers whose every line should be studied by us in the same way that Tennessee Williams’, Eugene O’Neill’s and Edward Albee’s lines are studied and scrutinized.

We begin Storytellers with a four-article series, of which this is the last, concentrating on the top four writers or writing-teams working in television today. Most of their scripts are certainly worthy of study and re-examination, and yet the episodes we watch get old in our minds faster than yesterday’s newspaper.

The Top Four

In the top spot: David E. Kelley.

At number two: Aaron Sorkin. Sorkin maintains high quality more often than Kelley. But when Kelley’s good, he has an even wider range, sharper claws, and better drama.

In third place we had Amy Sherman-Palladino and Daniel Palladino, writers of most of the first six seasons of Gilmore Girls.

And this week we get to talk about the writers in fourth place: Rescue Me’s creators and main writers, Peter Tolan and Denis Leary.

All these writers or writing-teams can write heart-wrenching drama; can have more laugh-out-loud comedy in a drama than can be found in most sitcoms; have a clear view on life, which they convey through their stories; can deliver stories that feel as intense and intensive as a two-hour movie; do not look down at their audience and do not talk down to it; and all four put their heart in their hands when they write well, and let us watch it bleed.

Peter Tolan and Denis Leary deserve special attention, because they created something rarely found in television or movies these days: A show with soul.

Apart or Together?

Leary and Tolan are not the same apart as they are together. We last saw them on separate shows.

Peter Tolan is best remembered for The Larry Sanders Show, a brilliantly-written show that was as cold as ice.

Denis Leary, meanwhile, wrote The Job, where he played, much like in Rescue Me, a macho, alcoholic cop who cheats on his wife and can’t handle life. But at the end of the day, The Job wasn’t about anything, and its plots were all over the place. Although Peter Tolan was around, his presence was not felt in the writing. This was Leary’s show.

A few years later, when the two collaborated in writing and creating Rescue Me, it seems that each gave the other what he lacked. Tolan gave Leary structure, while Leary gave Tolan the soul he needed. Together, they created a show that’s actually about something.

Tough Guys and Tortured Souls

Rescue Me is about people who hold it in and what they go through when life gets tough. It is about the virtues and faults of holding it in. But mostly, it’s about what happens to people who don’t break when they finally do break.

Before we get to the stuff that breaks the characters down, let’s meet them.

Tommy, played by Leary, is an alcoholic, chain-smoking, pill-popping New-York Irish fireman who cheats on his wife, Janet, and comes from a long line of alcoholic, chain-smoking, pill-popping Irish firemen who cheat on their wives. He has three kids and when we meet him, he’s going through a divorce, and is spying on his wife, unable to let her go.

Here he is, in season 1, explaining why the guys at work don’t know he stopped drinking: “I quit drinking in front of family, so that Janet would think that I really quit drinking so I could get back together with her, but I didn’t tell the guys at work I quit drinking because I didn’t want them to think it’s a sign of weakness, or that, you know, I was having some kind of sudden change, like I was losing it. Plus it allowed me to keep drinking while I was going to AA.”

Tommy’s firehouse is filled with men who are the archetype ‘tough guys’: macho, homophobic, and emotionally unavailable. Firefighters are heroes to Leary and Tolan, but they are as flawed as any of us. For example:

Tommy is talking with Franco about last night’s escapades. Halfway through, Tommy says, “What I can’t believe is you making a move on a chick with sideburns.”

To which Franco replies: “Hey, Tommy, it’s getting slow out there, pal. All that pussy I was getting after 9/11? Now nothing. People forget.”

“Yeah,” Tommy says. “Sad commentary.”

Acerbic, cynical people. And real.

Here’s another example of how Leary and Tolan write their tough guys:

Someone anonymously posted a poem they wrote in the firehouse.

Tommy reads it allowed, then ridicules it.

The author says, “I don’t know, it’s not that bad. It rhymes.”

“So what,” says Tommy. “My ten-year-old can make stuff rhyme. It doesn’t mean he’s the next, uh... Name a poet.”

“Angie Dickinson,” says one firefighter.

“Angie Dickinson? From Police Woman?”

Franco, puffing on his cigarette, says, “Nah, I think you mean Emily Dickinson, from the Belle of Amherst.”

Tommy looks at him, surprised, “You know poetry?”

“Nah,” he puffs on his cigarette again. “I jacked off to a picture of her once, when I was eleven.”

But it’s not the comedy that gives Rescue Me its soul, and not the dialogue. It’s the broken, shattered people. The show is populated with tough people with tough lives who don’t know what to do when things get too tough. One of Tommy’s firefighting friends has a gay son with which he cannot talk and a wife with Alzheimer who forgets she’s married. Another firefighter's daughter is rushed to the hospital because she took his pills, but that's not enough for him to be able to quit taking them. Tommy’s wife takes the kids, sells the house, and all four disappear.

Jimmy, also a firefighter, was Tommy’s cousin and best friend, and he died on 9/11. His wife, Sheila, can’t stop crying and can’t find a man. She gets drunk and hits on Tommy: “I can’t meet anybody. I can’t get Jimmy out of my mind. He’s always there. You are the closest thing I have to him. You’re sweet. You’re funny. And you’re here. Right now. Right here. Christ, you lost Jimmy, you just lost Billy Warren, I mean how long do you think all of us have?”

Tommy is haunted by the ghosts of the people he didn’t save, including Jimmy’s. The dead people follow him, talk to him, and haunt his dreams as well as his waking life.

When Tommy’s mother dies unexpectedly, his father begins to cry: “You know, my father cried a lot towards the end of his life. He never cried before then. Probably not even as a baby. But near the end, you looked at him cross-eyed, and he’d bust out bawling. It’s the ghosts, Tommy.”

Tommy suddenly takes a greater interest in this, “It’s the what?”

“All the people you’ve hurt, all the meanness you did. You get old, you stop moving a million miles a minute. It all comes back. It really shows up again. All you can do... All you can do is cry.” And he does. Too embarrassed, he waves Tommy off, “Go on, get out of here! Make your suck-ass coffee!”

Tommy and all the men in the firehouse and their families don’t know how to break. Leary and Tolan throw at their characters everything they can, making their lives as hard as possible, to see how they would react. To teach us, to teach the characters, and to teach themselves something more about human nature.

Three extreme examples of how tough things get and what happens then:

After his wife kidnaps the kids, sells the house, and disappears, Tommy hits rock bottom. He soaks himself in vodka, and lights the lighter, inching it closer towards his body.

Halfway through the show, just as his life is getting back in order, and as everything with his wife is good again, their son is killed in a mindless hit-and-run. How do you deal with something as horrible as that? And how does someone like Tommy, who can’t deal with anything, deal with something like that?

Another unbearable, unforgettable moment of television comes a few episodes later. His own brother is secretly sleeping with Tommy’s ex-wife. One episode revolves around the fact that one of the firefighters in Tommy’s firehouse is secretly sleeping with Tommy’s crazy sister, constantly telling us how Tommy beat her last boyfriend within an inch of his life. This helps set up Tommy’s mindset and, at the same time, blindside us to the main event. Towards the end of the episode, in a family event, Tommy sees his brother and his ex-wife touching under the table.

In an amazing piece of acting, Tommy completely loses it: We see the wires snap inside his brain, as he just looks at them. Then, with absolutely no warning, he leaps across the table, no longer entirely sane, and beats his brother. He throws him all over the place, then into the street, throws his head through the car of a window, kicks him, and, spitting on him, leaves him half-dead on the road.

There is a difference between this drama in Rescue Me and the dramatic turns that appear in shows like ER and Third Watch. The last two have drama for drama's sake, because it keeps the audience glued to the set. Something is burning inside Leary, and he and Tolan keep writing situations that return to the same thing: breaking the unbreakable people. And during that process, Leary makes us feel for an hour what he feels all the time, and we all learn something about human nature.

Why Listening to Denny Crane Makes Us Smarter

People are inherently biased and there’s nothing you can do about that. But if your name is David E. Kelley, writer/producer of L.A. Law, Picket Fences, Chicago Hope, Ally McBeal, Boston Public, The Practice, and Boston Legal (not to mention a few TV movies and shows that didn’t last as long as the rest), you know how biased people are and you use it to get your point across.

We have to look no further than Denny Crane’s character in Boston Legal. At first sight, he seems ridiculous, out of touch, and senile. The trick is to create a stereotype almost on sight, so that the audience immediately has an opinion on the character. Kelley then reinforces the stereotype, getting a few jokes in, only to reach a certain point in which the audience realizes it's looking at a human being with feelings, emotions, pain, and depths you hadn’t seen yet. Denny Crane, during the first season of Boston Legal, was not only a ridiculous parody of a person. He was a tragic has-been that knew his once-grand stature and abilities were collapsing and that there was nothing he could do to stop it. He was being ridiculous to hide his fears. In the first season, Kelley turned Crane into a three-dimensional human being.

Almost every person in a Kelley series begins as a stereotype, and ends up, if he or she is given enough screen time, as a surprisingly three-dimensional person.

Douglas Wambaugh’s first image on the screen, in Picket Fences, was of a very Jewish-looking shyster (played by Fyvush Finkel). He cracked jokes and was the epitome stereotype of the Jewish lawyer. And he fit that bill perfectly. “Reasonable doubt for a reasonable fee” was his motto, and he would represent anyone for a fee. But the truth was that he would also represent people for no fee. When Frank the Potato Man (yet another stereotype of Frank, Rome, Winsconsin’s homeless man) was about to be lynched by the people of Rome, Wambaugh was the only one who fought for him. He did it for free, he stood up against the entire town, and he never gave up. Because Wambaugh, it turned out, had a big heart and a deep-seated sense of justice.

We saw that heart best when Wambaugh was banned from his synagogue. Wambaugh ‘sued’ the synagogue and got a hearing at a ‘Beit Din’, which is a sort of Jewish court that settles religious issues. He made his case, and the other side made its case. But when Wambaugh saw how many people from the synagogue signed a petition to have him banned, we saw Wambaugh’s world collapse. And he was never more human.

The town of Rome, Wisconsin was full of stereotypes and erroneous first impressions. From the ridiculous Frog Man (who dressed like a frog and sang songs), to Carter Pike (the nervous coroner who sounded like a chipmunk in court and about whom there were always rumors he touched the bodies inappropriately), to Ginny Weedon (who was very short and thought she got intuitions from the other side), and a bagful of others. Ally McBeal’s world was chock-full with just as many stereotypes, which were actually more stereotypical, because Ally McBeal was more of a comedy than Picket Fences. Remember the Biscuit with all his quirks? Richard Fish? Lane? Practically every second client and every second character filled some sort of stereotype. But they all had a justification for the way they were, and when they were outcast, they took it badly.

Kelley uses the fact that we are inherently biased to prove to us again and again not that the bias is wrong and not that everyone is the same, but that there is a person in everyone.

But the truth is that Kelley’s humor does even more than that. Kelley’s humor forces the audience to think. I’ll repeat that: Kelley’s humor forces people to think.

It does that in two ways.

First of all, most jokes are put in such a way that forces the audience to immediately develop a contrary opinion. Think back to most of Richard Fish’s speeches. There wasn’t one sentence there that was right, but with every sentence Kelly put in his mouth, he forced you to form an opinion of what is right. That process wasn’t even a conscious effort on your part, because you didn’t take time to think. Fish gave you a line, and you laughed because a contrary thought had immediately appeared in your brain without effort. In fact, think back to most of Denny Crane’s monologues, or even to most of Alan Shore’s personal statements in the office.

Kelley uses his humor to force you to think. It doesn’t matter what you think, so much as that you think for yourself and form an opinion that belongs solely to you.

Here’s the other way he does it. About half his jokes force you to have more than one point of view at a single time.

Here are a few examples:

When Mayor Pugen spontaneously combusts (and let’s not get started on that one), Wambaugh, who was also his political opponent, gets up to speak: “I’ve known Bill Pugen for 18 years. I’ve never liked him. When he burst into flame, part of me wanted to bring marshmallows.” You immediately put yourself in Wambaugh’s mind, thinking about why he said it. But you are also thinking about those gathered around, and what they must be thinking. Kelley forces you to be in more than one head at a time.

When Zach, the sheriff’s little kid, states innocently: “It’s politically correct to hate Christians,” you immediately think about what he must have heard and what kids are exposed to these days to make him understand the world and political correctness in this way. You see the kid’s perspective (it’s what he heard and what he knows), while retaining your own.

Once, in court, Wambaugh faces off with the FBI. As the proceedings begin, the FBI lawyer says, “Your honor, this is blatant interference, which is jeopardizing the investigation.”

Which is Wambaugh’s cue to rise, “Your honor! Thirty-two hands have been hacked off during their investigation. A little interference would be in order!” The audience in the court laughs.

“That is not funny, Mr. Wambaugh,” the judge chides him.

“Of course not, your honor,” says Wambaugh, and adds belligerently: “And I ask you to sanction everyone back there who laughed!”

In this way, Wambaugh took a situation that’s completely black-and-white and turned the tables on it, making us look at it with the opposite perspective.

And here is Kelley’s smartest joke, in my opinion. Not the best, simply the smartest. Jimmy Brock, sheriff of small-town Rome, Winsconsin, finds the body of a dead masseur. Jimmy discovers a little black book which contains a list of all the man’s clients. The book contains a few squiggles next to many names, representing a special ‘thing’ he used to perform to his favorite clients, the nature of which was unclear but receives many, many euphemisms during the episode. But, generally, it was called the Squiggly.

Now here’s the thing: Jill, Jimmy’s wife, was on the list, although there was no squiggle next to her name. Jimmy gets intensely jealous and demands to know what happened and why he didn’t know about it. Jill insists that there was nothing sexual about the massage, and that she was there simply for her sciatic nerve.

Over a tense family dinner, the Brocks discover that one of the Brocks written in the book was not Jill, but Kimberly, Jimmy’s teenage daughter, also seated at the table. They stare at her in shock. “What?” She says innocently. “It was just a massage.” “Yeah, right,” says Jill.

And there you go.

In one instant, with two words, Jill reverses everything she had claimed until then (although, of course, the ambiguity remains). The instant it happens, we immediately understand why she did it, why it’s bad, what the implications are if she’s lying, what the implications are if she’s not, Jimmy’s points of view as both father and husband, and Jill’s points of view as both mother and wife. All in one split-second.

The ability to see more than one point of view at the same time is part of what makes people intelligent. We’re usually stupid – or at least we act stupidly – when we can’t see beyond our own nose. Intelligence is the ability to react to changing circumstances. We are usually resistant and bull-headed when we’re zeroed in on our own point of view and the rest of the world can kiss our asses.

Of course, this has farther-reaching consequences than feuds with the neighbor, the spouse, the siblings, etc. Almost every war that is not based entirely on self-defense, especially long-lasting wars, depend on the people not seeing the others’ point of view as legitimate and/or that the other side is just as human and grieves just as badly.

I’m not saying listening to Richard Fish or Denny Crane makes us pacifists. I’m saying listening to them makes us marginally smarter for short periods of time.