Skip to main content

Fiona Dourif: "The Pitt"

 A "heat check" is a moment when an actor hijacks a film or show for three or four minutes--the actor becomes something like an MVP in just a very short span of time.


On "The Pitt," occasional heat checks come from the student doctors. These students are young and dumb; they say tasteless things. The awkwardness is compelling. For example, one student doctor recently concluded that a mother was a psychopath, because her "stressful-situation face" did not seem adequately "agonized."

The other student-doctor--Ogilvie--cannot tolerate when patients reveal themselves to be flawed. I think this intolerance is fairly typical for people in their twenties. Ogilvie joins Dr. McKay on an "outreach trip." (It seems clear that McKay has selected Ogilvie *because* of his frequent discomfort. At least on a subconscious level, McKay wants to give Ogilvie a trial-by-fire.) Within one minute of meeting his new patient, Ogilvie falsely concludes that an infection is an injection site. He then zones out. The scene is so effective because the real subject--Ogilvie's wavering competence--remains just beneath the surface. As in actual life, no one names the elephant in the room.

Another grace note: Ogilvie clearly thinks that a wounded person "should" just get herself to the doctor. The scene in the park nicely illustrates how difficult this can be--how the mere thought of entering the waiting room can throw up various emotional/psychological barriers.

There is a surprise cost for this visit--which McKay learns immediately upon returning to her job. It's unclear if the visit was "worth" the cost--and we don't know how anyone could make that calculation. Life goes on. Good writing.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...
3 comments
Read more

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...
1 comment
Read more

My Favorite Pop Song

  One thing I admire about Prince is his weirdly pretentious verses: Dream, if you can, a courtyard-- An ocean of violets in bloom. Also: Touch, if you will, my stomach. Feel how it trembles inside. No one else writes like this. Did people try to shoot down these choices? Did a producer say, "We'd like to rethink this one... Touch, if you will, my stomach...."  I can't help but wonder. But it's the chorus that makes this a classic. It's direct and universal--and it ends with that bizarre flourish, the allusion to "the crying doves." (Prince's song was number one in America for quite a while; it defeated Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark.") How can you just leave me standing-- Alone in a world that's so cold? Maybe I'm just too demanding. Maybe I'm just like my father--too bold. Maybe you're just like my mother; She's never satisfied. Why do we scream at each other? This is what it sounds like when doves cr...
Post a Comment
Read more