AFTER THE CAMERA CUTS AWAY [T, 1-5-21]

Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter

The hit sit-com of the 1990s, “Friends,” is on during the time we eat lunch, so we watch. It has held up—still seems interesting—very well. It has good acting and good writing. Also, it has no pandemic statistics or lies by Donald Trump. That makes for good lunch-time watching.

I think people like “Friends” because it’s the kind of group we wished we had when we were that age. Fun people, supporting one another as they flounder about trying to find their way. Even better, the “Friends” don’t have to deal with what happens after someone says or does something embarrassing, insulting, awkward. The camera just cuts away to a commercial or a different scene. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could do that in real life?

I actually did have a group like that, almost exactly like that—3 boys, and 3 girls, all single, living in the same building. A little younger. We were in the summer before our senior years in college, social work interns at Howell Neighborhood House in the Pilsen neighborhood of Chicago. Randy and Dan and me, Marian and Nancy and Barbara,

For a long time, I have wondered why our group, obviously so similar to the Friends of TV, was so different. Well, it’s because we didn’t have a director who could tell the camera to cut away whenever something awkward or untenable came up.

I guess Marian was the “Rachel” of our group, the one who attracted all the guys. One too many. Paul. Her boyfriend, from California, who surprised her, and all of us, by just showing up one day and basically refusing to leave.

Needless to say, there were plenty of awkward moments when we really wanted someone to say “Cut,” and just close out the scene. That doesn’t happen in real life, though, does it?

It turned out that Marian had come to Chicago to get distance from Paul. He was a nice enough guy, but the typical California frat boy—tall, blond, good-looking, entitled. I think Marian liked Paul, but she wanted the distance to be able to think clearly about her relationship with him. His surprising and constant presence, of course, made that impossible. She tried hard to do the work assigned to her as an intern, and to be a part of our social group, but Paul was always in the way. She finally gave up. One day she didn’t come to breakfast. She just left a note that she was returning to California with Paul.

The director finally cut the camera away. That solved the problem. For the moment. But I’ve always wondered about them. I give thanks for my “Friends,” not just those at Howell Neighborhood House that summer, but all those who stayed in the scene with me after I said or did something stupid or awkward, who didn’t cut the camera away.

John Robert McFarland

The photo is Howell House in the 1950s, but I’m not sure that it is from my summer.