The Office (U.S.): Perfect Reception
Written by Andreas Babiolakis
This is an entry in our Perfect Reception series. Submit your favourite television series for review here!
Our journey starts at a paper company that houses all walks of life, particularly a narcissistic, bigoted manager and his unawareness of the collective disdain around him. This company is called Wernham Hogg, and it is created by Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant. The Office was a short-lived mockumentary series that focused on the delusions of David Brent (played by Gervais), as well as some of the other employees surrounding him: Tim’s love for the receptionist who is taken, Gareth being too hardworking and idiotic outside of his job, and other characters that would become memorable (in ways). The Office lasted two seasons, and was given a Christmas special send-off, with a now-exiled Brent even more clueless than ever; he is not welcome, and yet he continues to try to be the life of the party.
I should probably note that it was less confusing back when The Office was the only show to be called this title. For maybe one year, back in 2005, things got a little muddled when you would bring up The Office. That’s because Greg Daniels (a writer for The Simpsons, King of the Hill, Saturday Night Live, and more) saw something in the series created by Gervais and Merchant that was applicable for American audiences; one could easily trust his satirical eye, particularly regarding what he has achieved with poking fun at the common ways of life of the middle class in the United States. There would have to be a few alterations. Wernham Hogg was now Dunder Mifflin in Philadelphia. David Brent was now Michael Scott, played by a then-barely-known Steve Carell. Tim was an easy fix, and his name was slightly shifted to Jim. Gareth had more of a transformation, as he became the farmer-perfectionist Dwight Schrute. You can apply these adaptations to all of the remaining characters that made the trip over the Atlantic.
The confusion, again, lasted one season. Case in point: the first episodes of both Office shows were exactly the same premise (a paper company that is the subject of a documentary has just been told that there will be some vicious downsizing taking place, and jobs will be cut). There are similar jokes and plot threads as if this is as straight-up of an adaptation as can be. The cynicism of Gervais and Merchant’s original series doesn’t really shine, here. We instead get what feels like a well-intentioned but less-triumphant conversion. Toss in some additional decent episodes, and the first season of this Office doesn’t quite hold a candle to its British counterpart. It’s unfortunate, because there is some real in-house cohesion, here. Outside of Carell, who at least had minor roles in some big films (Bruce Almighty, Anchorman), the majority of the support here were stars waiting to shine. Rainn Wilson had a small part on Six Feet Under (Jenna Fischer would have an even tinier role here). Most of the rest of the main cast had even slimmer resumes. However, a number of these cast members were producers and/or writers on the series, including Mindy Kaling, B.J. Novak, and Paul Lieberstein. Coincidentally (well, probably not), these performers acted together in what would be known as The Annex: a shared workspace where they could literally work on new episodes while acting in current ones. This Office was a labour of love from a team of dreamers. Gervais’ snarky tone just didn’t fit.
This was one of the main ingredients that would cause the overnight rejuvenation of The Office (U.S.): a clearly different objective that just needed to be realized after the idea of being an adaptation was shaken off. Then, there was the prominence of Steve Carell as a pop culture icon. The same year of the first season housed his biggest break at that point: The 40-Year-Old-Virgin. Suddenly, Carell was a must-see actor, and there was this humble sitcom that you can now find him on; it was a great reason to keep a show that felt so-so around. As season two was given the go-ahead, the internal team kept trucking away both in front and behind of the camera, and Daniels felt pressured to bring out something more warm and impressionable (a kind of comedy he was clearly already good at), The Office (U.S.) developed a clear identity of its own. At the drop of a hat, it was no longer the follow-up to the Gervais series, but instead its own phenomenon. If anything, it was already proving to be one of the best remakes in television history. Little did this troupe know that it would only grow into something even bigger.
With this clearly new direction taking place, things could start to gestate in completely different ways. That salesman who had a crush on a taken secretary? They could now make the relationship between Jim Halpert and Pam Beesly unfurl into something much fuller. Dwight could develop an entire lore surrounding the Schrute farms and family tree, explaining his many bizarre idiosyncrasies. Even a majority of the minor characters blossomed into fan favourites; who wouldn’t want to know Kevin, Phylis, or Stanley? The writers would often make themselves the most (likably) insufferable characters: Kaling was the juvenile and judgemental Kelly Kapoor, Novak was a temp-turned-arrogant-heavyweight named Ryan Howard, and Lieberstein made himself the maligned Toby Flenderson (whose bland existence is borderline painful). Then there’s Michael Scott, who was turned from a heartless bully (much like Brent from Gervais’ Office) into a naive leader that means well but is oh so problematic; he has a heart but not a brain.
The Office quickly became a must-see show on television, and it opened up the doors for so many opportunities, including new characters and storylines, cameos, and goofy situations. If I went into every character’s timeline, inside jokes, catchphrases, and other amenities, I think I would be exhausted by the end of it all (that’s what she said). It’s worth noting that some of these stories invited their participants over into the Dunder Mifflin (I must say, it has a much nicer ring than Wernham Hogg). These include Andy Bernard from the Stamford branch, Darryl Philbin (who we saw sometimes at the Scranton office’s warehouse, then he’d get promoted to being more of a main character), and Erin Hannon, who was meant to replace Pam during her leave of absence (she’d stick around). In the meantime, the characters we were growing to love were only getting better and better. Some of that Simpsons-esque heart that Daniels could bring over here were starting to put frogs in our throats; Michael buying Pam’s painting of the Scranton branch to hang up in said office is one of my favourite early moments. The comedy was also there, with so many standout moments (hell, full-on episodes, like “The Injury”, had me in stitches).
Believe it or not, I’m going to jump ahead six seasons or so. By now, Jim and Pam have had a glorious wedding (well, two, technically), babies are born, and promotions and demotions have been coming left right and centre. It was season seven by this point, and the same show that felt misguided and inferior was now one of the strongest sitcoms in television history (I’d argue that this amount of quality and nuance is what would ultimately place the U.S. Office above the U.K. one in the end, even with the cluster that would shortly come in the former). Was the American Office starting to grow stale? Not quite, but we all knew it was about time for the series to wrap up. Unfortunately, NBC, the cast, and the crew all got tangled up in these characters just as much as we did, as they decided to overstay the series’ best-by date. A mixup in contracts (since the series was signed up for seven initially) led to the head-scratching omission of Steve Carell from the series that he helped turn into a classic; Michael would be written out of the series with the greatest episode in Office history, with an especially fitting callback to a moment from the U.K. version involving a conversation hidden by the removal of a pocket microphone (as touching as the U.K.’s scene is, Michael’s airport sequence wins). Still, what the hell would The Office look like without Michael? The original Office was basically the passion project of a moronic boss who thought that this documentary footage would prove how great he is. I know that the American Office became its own beast, but it still started from the same place. Why should it exist without him? Could it exist without him?
The answer seems like a heavy “no”, as season eight was a complete disaster (even the tail end of seven post Michael showed signs of immediate weakness). Andy was now the head manager, with a new character, Robert California (played by James Spader) acting as the CEO of Sabre (the company that has owned Dunder Mifflin for a while by now). Even before Michael left, there felt like the freshness of the series was already waning. By now, the glue that held the show together was gone, and the flaws were much more noticeable. New characters that were meant to be a part of the annoying category were failing to be likable as well. Other characters were overstaying their welcome; case in point, Spader is a great comedic actor, but his California character stuck out like a sore thumb and somehow ended up becoming an actual low point of the entire series. Playful shallowness was now full-on irritation (especially in the form of Catherine Tate’s Nellie Bertram, who had me screaming out of frustration at times when she would refuse to leave Andy’s office like a child). I wouldn’t say that The Office was heading towards flanderization, but clearly the joys of the series were wearing thin. There was still a backbone that made any of this watchable, and it came in the form of the original characters we were still rooting for. How were Jim and Pam doing? Was Dwight finally happy (or was he ever happy)? Would things come around for Kevin? Can Stanley please catch a break?
Season nine knew it was time to wrap up, but it was still exuding some of the same issues of the previous season; I was behind the revelation of the documentary crew that has been following the Scranton branch until Brian the boom operator tried to curry favour with Pam romantically (ugh). By now, Andy was tossed into the pile of insufferable characters (that boat nonsense is irredeemable and so befuddling to me), so even established people weren’t safe. Luckily The Office knew how to end well: with a good old fashioned Schrute marriage (Dwight and Angela wound up together!), familiar faces (Michael’s included), and some poetic prose surrounding Jim and Pam’s relationship (which should never have been shoehorned into a rocky place like it was; a more natural regression would have made sense). The final few hours of The Office are back in top form, so at least that makes the concluding seasons of the series bearable. In all honesty, we all know that the series should have concluded when Michael departed to go live with Holly in Colorado. Had The Office wrapped up with this episode and Dwight winding up as regional manager right away, the series would go down as an undeniable contender for the argument of greatest sitcoms of all time. That wasn’t the case, and we have a more humbling reminder of what a great show derailed can look like.
However, those first seven seasons (I’m lumping the first season, which grows in strength in context) are something special, and this alone warrants The Office’s place in this conversation (although maybe in a bigger sense; certainly within a top ten list). Its influence alone is exhibit A: how many shows have tried to bite off of this Office’s mockumentary style (especially when compared to Gervais’ version)? In the 2010s and 2020s, there’s been a discussion of comfort shows, particularly when it comes to nostalgia, revisiting familiar faces and scenarios, and any forms of escape from our own lives. The Office (U.S.), to me, put this idea into peoples’ heads as squarely as it is placed now. Considering how empathetic it was with all of our workplaces, and how delicately it (initially) handled its characters, it felt like another shift for us with the people that we love the most (despite their imperfections). These were recognizable folks that we could confide in when we have had a bad day. This was a setting we knew better than our own. It was as silly as can be, but it knew how to play its serious cards; I can’t relay how much the series left me teary eyed without coming off like a buffoon.
With the magic that went on in this team of storytellers that just wanted to share their jokes, cheers and sadness with us comes one of the finest comedy shows of all time. There’s a reason why it was the most-streamed show on Netflix in 2020, seven years after it concluded: it still has a place in all of our hearts, and it holds us viewers in the same regard. Even when it was at its worst, it only ever had our best interests in mind. I think it’s easy to forgive it for trying to capture lightning in a bottle twice, especially since no other show that has tried to copy its formula has come close (including Daniels’ own Parks and Recreation, despite it also being a really good series). Who would have thought that we’d be nostalgic and yearning for the workplace to console us during our darkest times? Daniels did. Kaling, Novak, and Lieberstein did. The entire cast and crew did. They turned their own set into their own place of work and subsequently made their work their fun. It definitely shows on screen during The Office (U.S.), and we all strive to be a part of it at all times, no matter how often we rewatch each and every single second. Even though it grew wobbly, I also wish it would have never ended.
(That’s what she said.)
Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Ryerson University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.