PART TWO / CHAPTER EIGHT

Pam and Jim

Season 3: Episode 23 “The Job”

Pam is alone in the conference room. Staring slightly to the right. Engaged in a one-sided dialogue with the doc-crew. Her eyes are sad. Her voice melancholic.  

“I don’t know what the future holds,” she says. “But... I'm optimistic. And, uh, I had fun goofing around with Dwight today… Jim and I... are just... too similar…”

Over the course of 9 seasons on The Office Pam had 292 personal interviews - or “talking heads”. It’s when the subject/character sits or stands in or around the office for a mini-interview with the documentary crew. Vintage Office gold. And one of the narrative devices the show is known for. More than a clever way to get laughs, “talking heads” are an integral mechanism in the storytelling mix. Bearing witness to the evolution of each character’s personality, emotions, and beliefs. Despite their simplicity “talking heads” say a lot. Possibly even setting the direction the camera (i.e., with anxious characters like Pam - the camera points to the inside of the office, and non-anxious characters like Jim - the camera points outdoors). No matter, almost every “talking head” is a single shot frame. Non-panning. Shoulder up. The characters are usually alone. Babbling to themselves. Riffing. Unloading. Answering questions that we the audience never hear asked. Only twice does the doc crew ever talk back. 

There were thousands of “talking heads” over the course of the show. But this one of Pam is an all-time favourite. 

At the beginning of the episode Jim is interviewing for a job at corporate in New York. One he’s certain to get. If he wants it. And Pam is in Scranton. Reeling and quietly grieving the inevitable loss of her friend. Jim and Pam had been office pals for years. Laughing and pranking. Hiding their secret affection from each other. Jim had confessed his love to Pam at the end of season 2 - just weeks before her wedding. But Pam turned him down - twice. Jim moved to another city to get away but is forced to move back to Scranton. At the near-end of season 3 Pam came to see the light. In front of the whole office, and Jim’s new girlfriend, Pam returns her confession of love: “You were my best friend before you went to Stamford, and I really miss you. I shouldn't have been with Roy. And there were a lot of reasons to call off my wedding. But the truth is, I didn't care about any of those reasons until I met you…” Except, Jim was now with Karen. Moved on and moving to New York. Pam missed her chance at a life with her true love. And she knew it. 

The backstory of her “talking head”. 

Behind camera it’s assumed she’s been asked about the interview. “I haven't heard anything,” Pam replies. “But I bet Jim got the job. I mean, why wouldn't he? He's totally qualified, and smart, everyone loves him... and, if he never comes back again... that's OK. We're friends. And I'm sure we'll stay friends…” In short, Pam had accepted her lot. Forced to make do. Find a new way forward in a life without Jim. 

The final few scenes are a back-and-forth between the pair: Pam’s “talking head”, and Jim’s interview at corporate. But by the end of her interview Pam can barely keep eyes with the camera. She’s constantly looking down, off-screen, or beyond the sightline. Sorrow in her gaze. An aching-sadness to be free-to-love. Camera pointed in; she knows it isn’t possible. She’s trapped in a cage of her own design and has finally come to terms with it. She knows how special Jim was. How funny he could be. The potential he had to do good in the world. She cherished their shared laughs. His gifts. Memories. And thoughtfulness. She knew the type of person Jim was and what she’d lost in losing him:

“We just, we never got the timing right. You know? I shot him down, and then he did the same to me, and… But you know what? It's OK. I'm totally fine…” she says, convincing herself. “Everything is going to totally…”

Fine. Good. Incomplete. 

Forever-in-regret. 

More than rambling exposition, Pam’s “talking head” is a confession of sorts. A longing for absolution. Forgiveness. And we the audience are her priest. Her arbiter. And advocate. Despite her grief Pam is grateful for Jim. And everything Jim ever meant to her. She would never want to hold him back. Make him feel guilty. Or tie him captive. She wants Jim to live his best life. Even without her. The truth is, Pam loved Jim. Deeply. She always loved him. Loved him even then. She just didn’t tell him soon enough. And now she’d have to learn to love him from afar. 

While he loves someone else. 

Story as art can move the needle. Make meaning. Cause people to feel. Express for others what is inexpressible within themselves. And this entire sequence is meaning-making-magic. The whole scene hurts. A climatic culmination of hundreds of hours of narrative layering and emotional development leading to ultimate disappointment and despair. It’s perfectly composed. Jenna Fischer’s performance as Pam is brilliant. Delivered with such believability it’s difficult to separate fiction from non. I can feel Pam’s torment. No matter how many times I’ve watched - oof - it hits right in the feels. 

I know Pam’s pain. 

Her sorrowful regret for time-lost. Her aching-angst for what-could-have-been. Her sense of sadness for lacking courage when it mattered most. For losing trust. Failing to act. Failing to course-correct-before-its-too-late. Her disappointment for not doing something sooner. Being clearer. Doing the right thing - even when it hurts. Worse, I can feel Pam’s love for Jim. Her deep admiration for a beloved friend. The imagined joy of what-life-could-have-been. And all that gooey goodness makes the whole scene hurt that much more! Pam wanted so badly for things to be different. “But it’s over for me,” I imagine her thinking. 

I feel it. I sense it. I know it. 

It’s exactly how I came to love Bhaer. 

“Three years puppy. Three years a dog. Three years golden.” Accurate advice from a Bernese breeder. After those long three puppy-filled years came three years of steady-as-he-goes. Bhaer being Bhaer. Me being me. Years where I was emotionally distant. Easily frustrated. Avoidant. Mildly regretting the inconveniences of owning a dog. The war with garbage ever waging.  

I couldn’t say when. Or even why. But something changed inside of me during Bhaer’s golden years. Around age 6. No big reason or revelation, I just started caring for Bhaer differently. I stopped being angry with him. My expectations waned. Not an instant whole-sale-turnaround. More of an easing. A relaxing. Besides, it was near-impossible to be around Bhaer and not smile. He was such a goof. Kind and easygoing. I wasn’t blind to his affections for my kids. How he cared for them. How he adored my wife. Held her in times of loss and grief. Knew when she was pregnant before she did. Celebrated, and even sang with us in times of joy. There wasn’t a “Happy Birthday” sung without Bhaer joining in. Only a monster could resent a singing dog. Some of my happiest moments as a father were when Bhaer and I pulled our kids together with the sled. Harnessed up and heaving, he’d look up at me with the proudest grin. “Thatsa a good dog,” I’d say, and pat his mangy head. And Bhaer’s eyes. Those cosmic-brown-adoring eyes. His gaze was a gift from God. Like staring into an ancient pool of forgiveness. 

As the years rolled Bhaer and grew into a steady rhythm. Found an endearing back-and-forth acceptance of each other. Bhear being Bhaer. Me being me. Two grumpy old men hacking and bantering. Warring over the trash: “Stay outta my garbage you ol’ mutt!”

“Just watch me!”

There’s no doubt. Bhaer was a good dog. Genuinely good. A dog that gave love. To almost everyone. And I was grateful for him. Found joy in how he loved others. I knew he was special. I watched how he cared for others. Gave life to weary. Brought smiles and laughter to the young and the old alike. Just one pet was all he needed and he was hooked (on you). He’d throw his whole body with a patented floor-flopping-cuddle. All smiles and wag. Freely Bhaer gave; freely he was loved. Person after person. Family, friends, strangers-who-became-friends.

“That must be nice,” I’d watch and wonder. “How do they do it? All these people. How do they love that dog so easily?” 

No matter how I’d changed, what I told myself, or what I did - I was stuck. Unable to love with my whole heart. Without any (known) reason. Like a kid looking through the window of a toy store. Trapped outside; longing to be in. Even in the best of our golden years together, I always felt like an observer to Bhaer’s life. Not a participant. 

Bhaer was everyone else’s dog. Just not mine. And I didn’t know why.

“But you know what, it’s OK.” It was my fault. Not his. “Our timing was off,” I accepted. Bhaer was a punk-of-a-puppy and I screwed up. My expectations on him were too high. My ability to love him freely was hindered. Too much time had passed. My window had closed. It was too late. I’d become the distant father who’d have to learn to love from afar. Of course it wasn’t the relationship of my dreams. What I wanted. Or what he wanted. It’s not what I imagined or thought what raising a dog would be like. I had hoped that owning a dog would be more fun, exciting, and love-filled. But sometimes life gets in the way. Stuff happens. Relationships don’t always grow as you’d expect. Sometimes there are hidden blockages that keep you from being yourself. Living fully. Loving freely. And I had a lot of blockages. 

“It’s too late for me…”

“[But Bhaer] is totally qualified, and smart, everyone loves him... and, if [Bhaer] never comes back again... that's OK. We're friends. And I'm sure we'll stay friends. We just, we never got the timing right. You know? ... But you know what? It's OK. I'm totally fine. Everything is gonna be totally…”

_____________

Jim: “Pam. [Jim opens the conference room door and looks to camera] Sorry. [Jim looks to Pam] Um, are you free for dinner tonight?”

Pam: “Yes.”

Jim: “All right. Then... it's a date.” [Jim closes conference room door]

Pam: [looks to camera, tearing up, smiling] “I'm sorry, what was the question?”

_____________

December 8, 2022. Roughly 1:36PM.

The exact moment when everything changed.