Broken Feelter

why do characters on the office look into the camera?  on the office, the characters are being filmed as part of a documentary; they understand they are being filmed and can acknowledge that fourth wall and those theoretical future viewers.  but because the office is a comedy, that fourth wall acknowledgement is not about explaining motivations or gaining approval for an action, but about sharing an agreement with a group of people who are not actually there.  

characters on the office look into the camera when something ridiculous is happening that no one in the room thinks is ridiculous but the person looking at the camera, were they to say ‘this is so ridiculous’ to the people in the room, their comrades in fiction, they would get serious pushback or anger; to those characters the situation is serious.  the character looking into the camera is a more objective viewer, like the audience, and by looking at us they’re putting themselves on our objective team.  and in the future when this ‘documentary’ would air, they would be vindicated as the person who understood that the situation was ridiculous.

so in real life, when we talk about ‘looking into the camera like we’re on the office’, this very specific emotion is what we’re referring to: that we’re in a situation that any objective viewer would find inherently ridiculous, and are seeking acknowledgement from an invisible but much larger group that would agree with us, even though nobody in the situation would do so.  we’re putting ourselves in an outsider position, a less emotional position, and inherently a more powerful position, because we’re not vulnerable to being laughed at like all the ridiculous people we’re among.  we’re among them, but we’re not with them, and the millions of people watching us on theoretical tv would be on our team, not theirs.  that’s such a specific idea and concept, and one that’s really hard to communicate in pure language.  but we can say ‘looking into the camera like we’re on the office’ and it’s much easier to communicate what we mean.

HAMILLTON.

….

That brings us to Robert Kadera, an electrical engineer by trade but an out-of-touch asshole fulfilling every negative stereotype about the rich in practice. Faced with the gut-wrenching prospect of the other kids at the country club mocking his kid’s inferior backhand, Kadera chose to land his private plane on a nearby golf course to make sure his son got to his lesson on time.

No one was hurt, because the golf course was covered in snow instead of golfers, but Kadera landed on a fairway that was close to a concrete wall, power lines, and the freaking highway. This master stroke of terrible judgment led to him getting slapped with charges of reckless conduct, endangering a child, and being the least sympathetic person who has ever lived. Kadera’s attorney argued that the charges were “too vague” – an argument that was presumably dismissed after the judge pointed out that nobody had bothered to write a law specifically prohibiting rich people from landing planes on golf courses because they assumed that nobody would commit such a clownish act of dumbassery.

Have we talked about this scene yet? Because I want to talk about this scene and why it’s important that this is the memory Steve is thinking about right before he has to face the Winter Soldier again.

We all know how out of place and unhappy Steve feels in modern society. The movie doesn’t make any bones about it. Even though good ol’ Cap exudes positivity, we see how he uses his time. When he’s not at work for SHIELD, he’s grasping at straws, trying to catch up, trying to make sense of how he fits in a world that’s moved on without him. When Steve starts to feel out of place even when he’s playing soldier for SHIELD, Sam tells him that he could do something different, anything at all; but Steve looks blank. Sam asks him what makes him happy, and Steve doesn’t know. 

The only thing that keeps him going is knowing that his sacrifice helped save the world. As he says to Peggy, he always wanted to do “what was right,” and at least he can take some comfort from the fact that he helped save countless lives from Hydra by losing everything that meant a damn to him.

That is, until he and Natasha find Zola in the underground bunker and they find out that Hydra is still alive and well – thriving, even – within the ranks of SHIELD. 

This is the moment Steve learns he gave up his life for nothing.  

So. The flashback scene.

I’ve heard some people say that they think the scene is extraneous. That it’s enough to know that Bucky and Steve were friends way back when, only Bucky doesn’t remember (and if you want more skinny!Steve and scenes of Bucky and Steve being chummy, go back and watch The First Avenger). On the surface, it may seem like this scene is rehashing old territory, but it’s actually telling us quite a bit more than that. 

Bucky is walking Steve home after his mother’s funeral, and Steve is obviously vulnerable and shaken. His parents were the foundational figures of his life, and they’re both gone now. Before Bucky can even get the question out, Steve rejects the idea of moving in with Bucky. He insists he can get by on his own. Then he fumbles clumsily in his jacket looking for his key, but he can’t find it. Bucky casually picks up the spare and hands it to him. 

This moment.

It’s such a simple gesture, but the camera focuses in on that key like it’s the freaking Tesseract. Why? Why is this moment with Bucky so prominent in Steve’s thoughts? Why not something out of their days together with the Howling Commandos? Or why not something from when they were kids running around on the playground? 

This moment is an echo of exactly what Steve’s feeling in the future: lost and alone. Everything that means home is shut behind the locked door of time (or a coffin lid).

But against all possibility, Bucky is alive. And, to Steve, Bucky doesn’t just have the key back home, he is the key back home.  

“I can get by on my own.”

“But the thing is, you don’t have to.”