Supernatural: It’s a Terrible Life

Where Are Zuzu’s Petals?
by Sylvia Bond
Supernatural Episode Review – Season 4, Episode 17
“It’s a Terrible Life”

By the title of this ep, it was easy to guess that Show was riffing off of one of my favorite movies of all time, It’s a Wonderful Life, by Frank Capra, starring the immortal Jimmy Stewart and the deliriously beautiful, liquid-eyed Donna Reed. Frankly, Show bit off a very big bite with this one, because IAWL is so very well known. The fun part was in not knowing exactly what Show was doing until the very end, where the riff takes a very sharp turn. But before that, there was lots and lots and lots of really entertaining Sam and Dean togetherness, and a fangirl can’t ask for more than that. (But we do anyway.)

This ep was terribly funny. And not the sloppy kind of jokey funny, but real, cerebral humor. It starts off in an apartment, which is glossy enough for me to suspect that everything was purchased on the same day from an Ethan Allan catalog. Up shows Dean, and he’s making latte, for which he has his own milk steamer, and in which he uses rice milk, of all things. The whole setup screams NOT DEAN! Which is what makes it funny, because the Faux Dean we see is totally into it, into the steamer and the power suit (with the striped shirt, loud tie, AND suspenders), and the brand new hybrid car; the juxtaposition of the two personalities, what we know about Dean and what we see here, had me laughing deep in my throat in appreciation. 

Then there’s the Sam version of this, also cleverly done, and with the same attention to detail. He sits in this very small cube that can barely accommodate his broad (gorgeous) shoulders, doesn’t give him any privacy, and certainly violates about 30 OSHA standards without even trying hard. He’s wearing yellow that doesn’t look good on him and chinos that aren’t tailored quite right. He works with people who, like him, are all forced into over-managed, non-stimulating, dead-end jobs, and with whom he has in common nothing but the job. 

All of this signals his status in the herd, namely, he’s a peon and his job is to do as he’s told. We are not offered access to Sam’s home life, we don’t see the Sammy version of Dean’s penthouse suite (We were robbed!), but it sure would have been fun to have seen him hurriedly making a tuna sandwich in the dark of morning and grabbing some carrots to round it out, which is a working class Joe’s equivalent to a power lunch. 

While at work, Sam does his job with perfunctory efficiency, and although he struggles with odd dreams and memories, he also has time to be attentive to the emotional states of his co-workers. Wait, it gets worse. Tending the phone, Sam is forced to answer the same inane stupid question from customers over and over: Why isn’t my printer working? Each and every time, the fix is the same: Turn the printer off, wait, and start it again. This is hysterical to watch, and I do mean hysterical in the truest sense of the word, which is panic bordering on tears, because so many of us can recognize our own lives in Sam’s job. Sam’s life is so bad and so confined and so not free, in all the worst ways. It’s more like animated death.

Dean’s job is somewhat less not free, and not as demeaning, if you see what I mean. If he has the same conversations over and over, if he is confined to the indoors, and is forced to look ridiculous keeping up with the latest fashion for aspiring executives (striped shirt AND suspenders?), at least his conversations offer him some small measure of power and influence, and his interior walls afford him a view of the outside (which he never looks at). And if he needs to watch the carbs and do a cleanse, at least that’s better than the alternative, which is starving. He’s wearing golden handcuffs to be sure, but his life isn’t a trap, except in the most superficial of ways. It might be a tad dead end, but that’s only because the only way for him to advance is to buy into the whole “climbing the corporate ladder” thing. 

This heavy handed message is tucked away inside perfectly delightful scenes and running jokes, the biggest of which is that in this reality, Sam and Dean do NOT know each other. It’s like they have some form of collective dissociative amnesia. Admittedly this idea is not new, fan fiction has been working with this trope for nigh on four years now, to both better and worse effect. The fun part was watching Show manage the details while abiding by external rules and filters, and obeying the memos telling them what they can and cannot do, sent by those three guys in suits in an office somewhere. 

My favorite parts of the ep were the cute meets between Sam and Dean, and I mean that in the Hollywood sense of the term. The first two take place in an elevator, where Sam tries to talk to Dean, because he’s seen Dean in his weird dreams about saving people and hunting things. Dreams that he doesn’t understand himself, and that he’s not able to discuss with Dean very well. Dean, in his clownish office suit, thinks Sam is coming on to him, BOTH times. 

Sam is totally amusing, his face working worriedly as he tries to convince Dean that he’s a) not making it all up, and that b) he’s not coming on to him. But I have to ask myself, why, when a guy (good looking and hunky to be sure) tries to talk to Dean in an elevator, does his brain go there first? He tells Sam to save it for the gym, and then he tells Sam he’s not like that, and Sam agrees that he’s not either. (Obvious Show is obvious for here we have more pounding in of the coffin nails as Show insists that the brothers aren’t that way for each other, you understand? Show is talking to you, the brothers are not that way.)

Since this is Show, they get to use the very obvious running joke of Faux Dean and Faux Sam’s new last names being Smith and Wesson, respectively. (I laughed like a drain when I figured it out.) Then there’s the office scenario for Sam. Someone on Show has either memorized Office Space and/or worked in an office, or knows someone who does. It’s not so much the caricatures of office co-workers (the older guy, just about to retire; the young guy who bucks the system by not wearing appropriate shirts), it’s also the size of the cubes and the mundane nature of the job. Have you been there? I have. Every day.  

The whole stealing of the pencils was hysterical too, and so true, sadly, so true. I’ve worked in places that have a tall cabinet where you can go and get anything, anytime you want. Then there are places where the supplies are kept under lock and key. And can you guess in which office the most “shopping” takes place? If you guessed the lock and key kind of places, you guessed right. If supplies are free to all, then there’s less of a feeling of needing to hoard. 

Then there’s the interesting point about how the ghost only becomes active and attacks when the company is in danger, such as in times of financial strife like the Great Depression, or the Great Whatever-the-Hell we find ourselves in now. Show is topical, which makes it kind of self aware, which is interesting. For the span of this episode, Show no longer exists in the never-never land of the blue line highways and diners with blue plate specials; although Show has never tried to hide behind a nebulous date, this is the first time it acknowledged any current issue, not just the financial state of the country, but 9/11, and the whole Vista debacle, as well. I kept waiting for the shout out to Obama, but it never came, alas. 

Eventually, Sam and Dean start hunting the ghost, Sam because he’s inspired by his dreams, and Dean because it’s a whole lot more interesting than figuring out if lemon juice, cayenne, and maple syrup really works. While they hunt, they develop a rapport and a pattern of working together, using details and mannerisms that Show borrows from itself more than once, because it can and because it builds the history of the boys’ lives into every move they make. 

Here are some examples, your mileage may vary: The toss of the poker from Sam to Dean’s hand was a mirror image of a scene from Hookman. The spray of blood on Sam’s face in the elevator was right out of Mystery Spot, or perhaps Bloodlust. The burning of the gloves that were trapped behind glass? Provenance. An old photograph of how things used to look? No Exit. The little vampire bobble head doll that Sam has on his desk looks like the vampire from Monster Movie. Sam smashing his phone with an iron poker was his version of Dean in Everybody Loves a Clown. The Throwing of the Dean comes from any episode you’d care to name. I could go on, but you get the idea. Those of us who watch Show got the inside joke and reference to pretty much everything the boys did. Those of us who don’t watch Show all the time could get it anyway, because each reference was built in so well, and was actually by the boys so that you could see that it meant something. 

One of my favorite conversations involve Sam suggesting to Dean that they give everything up and travel the country together doing good works, and it’s not just because of the First Aid. (Really!). Dean objects, bringing up his portfolio, and asking how they would live. “What are we supposed to do,” he asks, “apply for fake credit cards, eat bad diner food, and share crap motels?” I know the answer to that, even as Sam admits that it’s all a little shaky. But it’s interesting to see Dean objecting to a lifestyle that he previously embraced to his manly bosom with everything he had. And then Sam adorably follows up with the fact that in his dreams, he and Dean were friends, and more than that, they were like brothers. Which is, of course, what the whole show is about, and I love the fact that Show acknowledges this out loud. 

Show also borrowed the Ghostfacer lads, bringing them back to teach Sam and Dean how to deal with ghosts. In this ep, the Ghostfacers have their TV/web show going (which was probably filmed in their parent’s basement), but it is they who are the experts, and when Dean stumbles across their website, he and San become avid watchers. I’ve become more fond of Ed and Harry over time, because, like Jo (oh, her!) they seem to be real characters who belong to the true and solid bedrock of what Show is about rather than just characters thrown in the mix for the sake of boobage, ratings, or a wild whim of one of the Corporate Suits who foolishly imagine, based on their audience studies, that Show is only watched by men ages 18-25. (It ain’t.) 

In the early days, when the Ghostfacers were introduced in Hell House, they offered the outside POV, so we could watch the boys moderate their knowledge and their swagger and make-believe a little so the Ghostfacers could score some points, or at least think that they had. Then, when the Ghostfacers came back again in Ghostfacers, we got more of that, more of how Sam and Dean appear to people (or would) in real life: scary, rangy, experienced men who could both kill you with a twitch. Woven in and out of that is the story of the Ghostfacers themselves, Sam and Dean wannabes who try and try but will never make the mark because of their insistence on staying at the Print Shop, where their tasks are determined by a manger, and their days are marked by tuna fish sandwiches and damp bags of mini carrots. 

Watching Dean get slowly more Deanish, and Sam Sammish was also a treat. Both actors figured out ways to moderate the expression of the boys as we usually see them, and upped the wattage so that at the end, we got the Sam and Dean we are used to. Plus, because the Makeup Team gave both Ackles and Padalecki such normal looking skin this week, and put white stuff on their mouths to dull them down, their green eyes shine like emerald lanterns in the dark. I’m not kidding. (I get a little Samhair action too, as Sam’s hair gets ruffled and adorably squashed by his headset. Not to mention the time it falls fetchingly across his eyes when he jerks awake from a bad dream.)

The end of the ep approaches when Sam has had enough and takes the iron poker they used to battle the ghost, and beats his phone to death with it, obeying that little, firey I-don’t-have-to-follow-the-rules spot in his head. But how on earth did Sam manage to get the fire iron into the office without being stopped? What, does he have a Magic Pocket like the Highlander, where he can tuck it away? But did you see the poker when he was done with it? It had a big dent in it, from the force of his blows. Oh, baby. Those arms, those shoulders. Plus it was so satisfying to watch him stand up and jut out that manly jaw and say, “I quit.” And then walk out without a second glance.

Then Dean gets a visit from his boss, who gives Dean a raise (we don’t know for how much), and promises him eight to ten years of backbreaking work (lunch and weekends, too) before he might, might get promoted to Senior VP. In Michigan. Dean considers this, looking very cute, and then, perhaps bolstered up by Sam’s talk of living on the road and doing something meaningful, turns it down. At which point, the boss stands up, and, tapping Dean on the forehead, turns into an angel of the Lord, namely Zachariah, who is also the Soap Angel’s boss. Which is where the whole IAWL theme comes in. Hell, Zachariah even looks like Clarence, down to the white puffy hair and whiny voice. The angel is pleased that Dean has made his choice to be who he really is, after which, it only takes six minutes for Show to ruin a perfectly good ep. I’ll list how, shall I?

First up, what happened to Sam? Granted, it was fun having Sam in the alternate reality too, watching him and Dean both have the opportunity to make a choice: this simple, hum-drum, day-to-day existence, or the exciting, scary one where they actually get to make a difference, and do some good. We got a lot of delicious Sam and for that I am grateful. Except, we got gyped because again, yet again, after Sam smashes his phone, he waltzes out of the picture and into the sunset, like he never even existed in the ep. It’s not just wondering how and when Sam found out about how the whole thing was set up by the Soap Angel’s boss, either. It’s more that we don’t get to see Sam and Dean reconnect after finding out that, in their heart of hearts, hunting is their destiny. Especially after their “I know you,” and “You don’t know me, pal,” exchange. They are still brothers, you know, and their fates are intertwined and always have been. Had Show spent less time on the ghost and the suicides, they could have included more of Sam.

Granted, Dean’s calling to save the world takes some precedence as his experiences are supposed to give him the courage he needs to make that choice and go down to the Garden to pray. Since Sam isn’t going to be asked to save the world (he’s not being asked to do anything, apparently), his story might be less significant with regards to that, but since Show took all that time to have us watch Sam going through the process, put him side by side with Dean? Then why on earth don’t we get to see him getting a visit from the angel? Oh, I get it. It’s all that demonic blood right? He’s already going darkside, the angels aren’t much interested in him. But even if they aren’t, isn’t God? What about the parable of the lost sheep, which represents how a soul that has strayed and when found is worth a whole lot more than a bunch of dumb, obedient souls. Wouldn’t there be a lot of power to be found in a redeemed Sam? 

Then, second, is the way Mr. Z delivers his message of hope and bolstering courage, a message that contains neither. He tells Dean only that he was meant to be a hunter and his destiny is to save the world. Mr. Z. tells Dean that he is a lucky guy; his life is really cool, because he gets to drive a classic car and fornicate with women. As if that were Dean’s only reward, which is pure bull. Dean takes his reward, his true reward, from helping people, pure and simple. (The fornicating is a side benefit, only.)

And yes, the Impala is cool, the coolest, but the real reason it’s cool is because of what it represents to Dean: freedom. Freedom to take a left instead of a right, freedom to choose to work a job or not. Freedom to sleep in one day, or get up early the next. Not freedom from want or freedom from fear, necessarily, but instead choices about how he might handle the fear and the want. And, to make a difference with those choices, rather than knowing that if you called in sick one day, it wouldn’t really matter, because there’d be someone else there to pick up the phone. If you’re Dean and Sam and you call in sick? People die. How’s that for helping you to feel like what you do matters? (Speaking of which, why are Sam and Dean never sick with the cold or the flu?)

Then, third, Mr. Z. looks at Dean’s corner office askance, asking Dean if he really wanted to live like this, like it was a bad thing. Just because you can afford a cleansing routing, and know, perhaps, that weaning yourself off of too many “bad” carbs might be a good thing doesn’t mean you’re a jerk or that your life has no passion or joy. Having money and privilege doesn’t mean that you’re life is worth any less or is any less meaningful, either. I’m sure there are lots of men and woman in corner offices who donate to charity, practice Zen meditation, love their families, their partners and spouses, and enjoy a good game of dirt football or cage wrestling on Friday night. They have to look for real love and true happiness just as hard as the poor guys and gals out there, it’s just that they are better dressed and better fed while doing it, is all. 

And fourth, Mr. Z. completely messes it up, because I thought the point was to show Dean how meaningful his life was rather than cool, and to give Dean strength to go on via this demonstration. Where is the Supernatural version of Zuzu’s petals to give Dean hope and bolster up his courage? Instead what we get is epic fail, because Zuzu’s petals are nowhere to be found. There are no words of comfort, no message of love. Which means that the angel didn’t understand the meaning of IAWL, which means that the writers didn’t understand it either. It was like watching a five year old take some water colors to paint over an old Rembrandt; I kind of got a sick feeling in my stomach, thinking, you guys don’t have any idea what you’re doing, do you. 

There’s a complete lack of parallel between George Bailey and Dean Winchester, and in the purpose of the lessons delivered by Clarence and Mr. Z. In IAWL, George Bailey saved lives, yes. By taking George back to a life that was lived without him there, Clarence is able to show George how valuable he was in addition to that, that his life had value simply because it was, and by his very being, just by being alive and kicking, he shaped the lives of everyone one in Bedford Falls. (Except for that curmudgeon, Mr. Potter, who probably, and hopefully, died of a painful bleeding ulcer.)

Dean, on the other hand, is being taught once again that other than his function as a hunter and now apocalypse stopper, his life has no other value, not even to God. This is what he was born to do; for no other reason is he alive. Subconsciously he must know this, even if he’ll never admit it out loud. Wouldn’t it have been better for Mr. Z. to have said something along the lines of, look, your life in this corner office isn’t so bad, it’s a good life, even, envied by many, but it’s not YOUR life, and you’re the one who recognized that. In your soul, you knew that you had a bigger purpose. And then, after that, what if Mr. Z had said, You are well loved by God, just as you are, and will always have a place in heaven, no matter what, thus taking away the ever-present threat of him getting tossed back in the pit. And then, what if Mr. Z. had offered Dean a choice? If the angels are worried that Dean’s heart is not much into stopping the apocalypse, I think the freedom to decide for himself whether or not to help out would have made him far more invested in the whole thing. Rather than just saying, “Hey, Dean, your real life was so much cooler, huh?”

Show certainly was bold, taking on a topic like this and trying to deal with it in less than forty minutes. I hate commercials with a passion now, because every week they gobble up 20 minutes of Sam and Dean time, force feeding me images of things I don’t want and will never want. And not only that, the concept of life choices isn’t something you can just whip out there like scrambled eggs. You need a good solid two-parter, really. Or how about a movie, a Supernatural movie, where you don’t have to stick to stupid guidelines for G rated TV that’s good for the whole family. You could go PG-17 and come dangerously close to R, and have a whale of a time using two good solid hours to tell the tale that needs telling. I’m just saying. 

Sylvia Bond is a ten-year technical writing veteran with too many degrees under her belt to count. She lives in Colorado, but does not ski, preferring instead to spend her money and time at the annual Great American Beer Festival, taking road trips across the United States, and reading historical fiction from the comfort of her fluffy green arm chair. She has been involved in fandom since 1993 and been writing fanfic since approximately 1993. What she finds most amazing about fandom (besides the open heartedness of fans and the sheer amount of creativity) is how visible fandom has become. “In my day,” she says, “we had to hide behind P.O. boxes to get fanfic. But nowadays, people wear t-shirts that shout their affiliation and share their shiny toys on the internet.” It’s a wonderful world.

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