On a recent Friday Night Lights podcast Stacey Oristano recalls a pre-FNL conversation she had with costar Derrek Phillips in which she gawked at the idea of a television show based on a movie. Common misconception, but an obvious fact to the diehards. Friday Night Lights is, in fact, based on the nonfiction masterpiece of the same name written by Pulitzer Prize winning author Buzz Bissinger. Despite the logical fallacy, Oristano is absolutely right and she effectively echoes the sentiments of most mass-media consuming viewers. Judging by the rating, she is possibly more correct than I might have given her credit for. Just last year the show was picked up for syndication by ABC Family, but was later dropped for lack of an audience. For a syndicated show on ABC Family this is saying a lot (This is the same network that still shows reruns of Full House and Saved by the Bell.)
In this age, however, shows don't need that major ratings output in order to stay alive. While blockbusters still exist, media is starting to take the route of The Long Tail, as coined by Chris Anderson in a 2004 article in Wired magazine. Put simply: everything is selling, even if it is in low doses. Amazingly, this system allows for more niche shows. Friday Night Lights is a beneficiary of this model. When creator Peter Berg was on Bill Simmon's podcast “The B.S. Report” in January 2009 he said, “This odd thing happened and this rapid fan base persevered...it was just enough of a fan base to screw with them. It was just enough of a fan base that they couldn't ignore it.” Television shows are less interested in finding a blockbuster with major audiences and more interested in having many shows have moderate audiences. Though the show has been on life support for the past few seasons, DirectTV stepped in to co-opt the show with NBC in order to keep production alive.
The story's expansion to television—which was lead by the hard work of the film's director and subsequently the show's creator Peter Berg (along with co-creators Brian Grazer and David Nevins) —has allowed for a screen adaptation of some of the books more important issues that were unable to fit into a feature length film. Most notably in this list is the issue of racism that was absolutely unlike nothing on television when it aired back in 2006. Berg has also added his own experiences to the show. While researching football teams for the movie, Berg and his crew witnessed a high school football player paralyzed on the field. The event lead to the inspiration for Jason Street, the Dillion Panther QB #1 in season one who was paralyzed in the shows pilot. Since that pivotal scene, the show has taken us down some amazing paths. Next Thursday that path will end.
As this beloved show draws to the end of its final path, its fans are left to pick of the pieces that will seemingly not be picked up by the writers in the succeeding episodes. I, for one, am not ready to have my emotions revert back to an un-rattled sense it was in before I began watching this show a few years ago. I've been hooked on every plot twist and character revelation (even the radically ridiculous ones. Case and point: Landry's killing of the drunk who tried to assault Tyra back in Season 2.)
What we do know about the final episode is that the East Dillon Lions will play for their first State Championship. Whether or not they win is not what is going to make or break this team or its individual members. As Irv told Derice in Cool Runnings, “a gold medal is a wonderful thing. But if you're not enough without one, you'll never be enough with one.” We have already seen this notion played out in season one, where the Dillion Panther win the state championship but their lives remained a mess.
The question that lingers over the final episode is what will be the fate of the Series' main protagonists, Coach Eric Taylor and his wife, former Dillon High School principal, Tammy Taylor. Coach Taylor has been offered a head coaching position at a division one football school, Shane State. In an intimate moment with his wife on whether he and the family should move to Florida so that he can coach at Shane, Coach admits “I like oranges.” At some point in the unfolding action, though, Coach realizes that coaching high school football is where he belongs. One of these moments—it's hard to pick just one in particular—involves coach acting as a character judge in the parlor of former Texas fullback and show regular Tim Riggins. There is no way Coach will have an impact on his college player on a person-to-person level than he has had with Riggins. Despite coaches claim that he is not leaving, other forces have come to play. Tammy has been asked to be the dean of admissions at a Pennslyvania based collegiate powerhouse (most likely based of of Swathmore in...). The implications of the Taylor's decision is tremendous, and could likely impact the legacy of the show. For one, Coach Taylor—who is clearly known in the football world, hence the offer to coach in a college—would presumably be offered a head coaching job at a school of his choosing in the competitive Philadelphia area. Just up the way is the rising powerhouse of New Jersey football, who host a perpetual national powerhouse in Don Bosco Prep, as well as other legitimate national contenders—a state program that boosted seven first round NFL draft picks in 2009. Coach Taylor might be just fine coaching high school in order to make a lasting impact on the lives of young men; however, he does not necessarily have to do so in Dillon. Choosing this route would present Taylor as quitting on one of his most compelling players, Vince Howard, right before Vince's senior year. With Vince's home life the way it is this would be nearly unforgivable.
I cannot help but think back to a talk that Coach Taylor had with one of Ornette's high school classmates. When Coached asked the classmate about Ornette, the man stated that Ornette was a former drug pusher and robber. The man, however, offered the old saying that “people change”—a sentiment that has been lingering over this show since day one. Instead of taking a firm and overarching decision to this question, Friday Night Lights openly shows people who change and others who stay the exact same. Tim Riggins has, in fact, changed—something that was hammered home when he tells Becky that “even in Dillon” having a seventeen year old work at a strip club is morally repulsive. He has outgrown the town that is all he knows. The same place where he came back to after a failed venture into the world outside of farms and football and seventeen-year-old strip-club employees. The question that will follow Tim Riggins going into the final show is not whether people can change, but rather whether or not he can go through his mental change and remain in the town he owes his life to. Another character's arch that has seen tremendous change is Mindy Riggins, the wife of Billy and the sister-in-law of Tim. In the beginning of the show's tenure Mindy was just the cold sister to Tim's then-girlfriend Tyra. Now she has developed into a fully fleshed out, compassionate, agreeable character. Juxtaposed to these developments is the character of Billy Riggins, who tends to stay the exact same. I've heard the argument that Billy has indeed undergone some growth during his brother's time in jail. I will not attempt to dispute this—the character has had a tremendous and subtle arch. He has been given a crucial chance to become a better person by coaching for Coach Taylor's crew. Despite the connection that he has with the Lions, Billy acts like his old self out on the football field. Both on and off the field, he has functionally remained fundamentally the same Billy. “Your wife is up there stripping, the seventeen-year-old girl who I told you to look out for is working here, and your son is being fed in the dressing room. And you're on your seventh beer” Tim says to his older brother before finally exploding at The Landing Strip. Billy remains a respectable person, only one who tends to enjoy a good night out drinking while his son is being babysat in a strip club dressing room. The show carefully works to not make Billy the villain; the important thing about life is the effort. “I'm not telling you to be better than everybody else, but I'm asking you to try to be” Coach Taylor told Vince after the troubled quarterback could not possibly juggle his on and off-the-field problems. The most glaring antithesis to this quote is the recent action of Vince's father Ornette, who has shown that he is not going to change, nor is he going to put in the effort. For a while, Ornette showed real promise for reform. His efforts to get his son into a good school devoured his actions. He became obsessed with meeting scouts and began to treat his son as a dollar sign as opposed to a human offspring. Paired with his tendency to dip into drugs, these distractions allow for Ornette to place order in his life. He is too beaten down by life to live as a fully-functional human being, and he seeks the continuum of these systems.
In effect, each character in the show does this same thing; however, most do so in a less destructible way. Juile seeks the comfort of Matt. Coach seeks having an impact. Tammy, too, seeks making a difference in the lives of kids. Gracie seeks someone to play with. This tight family acts as a microcosm of the show in general. Coach has had his series of bad decisions—most notably his decision to take a quarterback's coach at TMU. Subsequently he has changed and has come back a better leader than ever. Juile has been on this self-destructive path all season. How she will end up is as compelling as storyline as the show has heading into the final episode.
I cannot help but find hope in the stories and characters portrayed in this small Texas town. Once again, a couple of misfits who seemed content in their own misery have found a medium for their passion. They—like the Taylor family—have found their continuum for living. The culmination of this passion will be their state title game. From there, however, they will have to deal will real life. Winning state will not make Ornette change. It will not get Luke into college (For him not to get into a good school after captaining a new program into a state championship berth in TEXAS is far-fetched; however, it's a negligent unreality that I am willing to allow for the sake of the character and his budding relationship with Becky.) It will not get Jess a high school football coaching gig. It will not make Tim Riggins happy. It will not pay for Billy and Mindy's new baby. It will, however, act as a beautiful life experience they will keep with them forever. As I look towards my own future with uncertainty, I am excited by the opportunity for beautiful life experiences. Whether it's winning state, falling in love, graduating college, raising a family or even having a genuine moment with another human being: these moments are times when we can reflect and enjoy the wonders of life.
I cannot overstate what this show has meant to me at this point in my life. In this age of television, these are the stories we will keep for the rest of our lives. It is our duty to make sense of the fractured nature (a term coined by David Foster Wallace that I hold very dear to me) of entertainment in the television age. Sure, I can watch dozens of hours of the Jersey Shore in a single sitting and be entertained. When I walk away at the end of the day—head cloudy, brain disillusioned, eyes baggy and bloodshot—I haven't grow a bit from these experiences. This argument is a forefront in the debate over entertainment and art. In this television culture, and subsequently internet culture, we are berated with images daily and are forced to make sense of them. Good television and film, like good books and good poems, will have staying power. There is a reason Fritz Lang's 1927 film Metropolis is studied globally even today. Just as there is a reason people still care about All in the Family. Just as there is a reason why people read Tolstoy. These are great pieces of art. While it's unlikely that Jersey Shore will still be revered by the future generations, it's highly believable that people will still watch Friday Night Lights for years to come.
Wallace would go on to say that fiction's job is to somehow, in some capacity, make its audience less lonely. Any fiction writer will tell you that this is not an easy task. When dangling other age-old objectives like “avoid cliches” and “show don't tell” this goal can seem pretty difficult to fit into a story. I can only hope to heed the words of Coach Taylor in the closing scene of the pilot episode:
We are all vulnerable, and we will all, at some point in our lives...fall. We will all fall. We must carry this in our hearts: that what we have is special. That it can be taken from us, and when it is taken from us, we will be tested. We will be tested to our very souls. We will now all be tested. It is these times, it is this pain, that allows us to look inside ourselves.
What Peter Berg, the writers, and the wonderful actors have done is make its audience feel less lonely. Now that it's coming to a close I'm going to need something else to fill that void.
-Bernie McGrath
