I just watched “The Body” for the first time since it originally aired in 2001. Eight years hence and a lot of that episode had stayed in my memory, even for a fledgling Joss Whedon fan who had only seen a handful of episodes at that point. The long takes, the complete lack of music, and the weight of that death on every main character we’re watching.
No duh, it’s emotional.
So I had an emotional “out.” Yesterday, after watching the immediately preceding episode (“I Was Made to Love You,” another I’d seen in first run), I figured I’d do one of three things: not watch “The Body” at all, watch it a step sped-up with subtitles, or watch it with the commentary, if there was one. I’m kind of glad Joss Whedon did do a commentary. I watched it with the commentary on, once through, no repeating. Give it some distance. It’s still a tough, emotional episode, but it was illuminating to hear Joss say how the episode was constructed. Reminder of the obvious truth that it was constructed…but by someone who’s been through tough death in real life. As all of us have.
…there’s no real good way to wrap up an entry like this, is there? Trite thoughts are in my head, and I write some of them or just think them and then think No, that’s too obvious. Or too wallowing. Or too pie-in-the-sky. Or too generic. So I’m going to let myself end this entry. Then I’ll eat, and read, and listen to music, and think. And think of my loved ones…those here, those not-here.
Thank you for reading this.