To The Cast and Crew of After Life,
First, Cheers from across the pond. Way, way across, in fact: this comes to you from one of the numerous Seattle suburbs, all of us currently jockeying for position in the who-has-it-hardest Winter Weather Olympics (Downtown may have the lead, but February can make for a surprise underdog emerging victorious; we'll see).
But for now, on to the sentimental bits.
They say you can predict a good book within the first chapter or so, and that claim does have a measure of accuracy. For TV, the parameters seem a bit wider: a few episodes usually merit watching before making an adequate decision. But in the first 4 minutes, 35 seconds (I went back and read the meter) of Episode 1, I cried, I scolded Tony, and I laughed out loud.
If that isn't evidence of the greatness of what was to come, I don't know what is.
And I'm nowhere near alone in that opinion, it seems. Three seasons of multilevel humor, heart-twisting pain; of dark, cynical realism that urges you to just reach into the screen, and desperately offer Tony something better, whatever that may be.
Globally, this show couldn't have arrived on the home viewing scene at a better time. Seems by now just about everyone has known someone who was infected at least or faced the worst of what virus has to offer. And beyond that, even if we had never heard of Covid, people would still lose those they love, every hour, every day. And I, just one among the crowd, needed this show; we yearned to search for ourselves in Tony's mirror: to join in the crushing awareness that any prior career sunshine had since left long shadows in the workday. That perhaps life had sailed its course, or at least that steering a ship through life's torrid waters was nearly impossible once you've lost your Captain. I can't begin to imagine how many people know a Tony or any of the elegantly rendered characters on this show. Somehow, you've all made it so easy: effortlessly identifiable, so simply human, despite our puzzling complexity. Which is why this show is such a rare visual treasure: it's cathartic.
I won't heap my personal trials on your tables, but to put it simply: Tony's loss resonated deeply; down past the dark and past the marrow. I felt every pained step as he reassembled himself: remaining familiar but changed enough to be able to look back into the mirror and find your new self an acceptable upgrade.
So thank you, After Life, one and all. Thanks to everyone from Ricky Gervais to the folks with the lights and microphones. to whoever was tasked with keeping the tea hot and the biscuits fresh. Your show was worth a decade of therapist couches. And if you ever find yourselves out this way, let me know and I'll put the kettle on (but I'm always up for a pint).
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