On Grief

For a remarkably sad, depressing season, the sixth series of Skins ends on a surprisingly uplifting tone. Too uplifting, a little voice in the back of my mind keeps telling me. [Spoilers ahead.]

The thing is, I came away from this season with mixed feelings. It seemed, on the surface to be lacking some of the narrative complexity of years past. Some of the clichés of teen television that pop up (although generally dumped on their heads and barely recognizable) seem like fallbacks for a show so capable of intriguing storytelling. (Teen pregnancy? seen it. Love triangle? so seen it. Search for a birth mother? every adopted kid does that!) Parents who aren’t required for conflict are mysteriously absent. Episodes remain very contained, while background characters are left not just in background, but often completely out of the loop, to the extent that just about no one besides Franky knows anything about anyone else’s problems. And why is it that college factors in almost not at all the entire year?

But for all my quibbles, I’m not sure whether or not to be critical of any of this. Issues I raise, upon further reflection seem to be much more complex, engaging, and well dealt with than my original reactions assumed. After rolling my eyes at the first “pregnant” pee-stick, I had to admit in the end that I certainly have never seen a teen pregnancy like this one before. For an event that has only three possible resolutions (abortion, adoption, or mama-hood), Skins managed once again to paint new shades of gray. Above all, Grace’s ghostly presence throughout is an incredibly executed narrative device, elevating the series nearer to artistry than entertainment. It is a wonderful way to tell the story of loss, without forcing the audience to let go of the beautiful, magnetic actress, who still lights up the screen in her all-too-infrequent appearances.

By losing such a powerful, central character – by which I mean, Grace not only offered someone easy to love, but provided the logical core of the group of friends, the connection that brought these eight people together – by losing her, it is natural that what should follow is grief and depression.

So maybe my real problem is just how sad it is. The series stems from a place of loss, and nothing successfully pulls us out of that pit of despair until the end. On top of that, Franky’s constant presence (replacing Grace as a central cog in the machinery of an eight-part friendship) brings everyone else down, as she plunges into her own private issues of abandonment, adoption, masochism, and problems with intimacy.

Or maybe it’s just the incongruity between this overwhelming grief, and the joy that is displayed in the final moments of the series. Is it possible to bounce back that quickly? After Franky’s fits, and Alo’s freak out, and Mini’s denial, and Liv’s loneliness… all of a sudden it’s all somehow fine. It is as if with the beginning of a baby’s new life, all the sadness of losing Grace can dissipate. The miracle of birth overshadowing the pain of death. As if Rich’s final goodbye is not to us, but to her, his smile beaming up acceptance.

So perhaps that’s where I am… still lost in the pain of grief. While Grace’s friends move on with their lives and learn to live without her, they’ve left me languishing behind. After all that heavy sadness, maybe the happiness exuded in the finale strikes me as false because I’m just not ready for acceptance yet.