I sound like an old man mumbling with a toothpick in his mouth, but I can’t think of a better, more illustrative expression: in times when too many series seem like long movies, ‘The Pitt’ (HBO) seems quite the opposite: a series of a lifetime. But “old school” well, like Madonna, the Russian salad or a rental from the 90s.
In ‘The Pitt’ the commandments of contemporary platform fiction are not followed: no addictive pilot, no schematic-breaking central episode, no filler chapters (and chapters), no pyrotechnic and open ending, no acrobatic sequence shots, nor a photograph darker than a video of The Sisters of Mercy. Nor do 120 years pass from one season to the next (does anyone remember what happened in ‘Euphoria’?).
In this sense, the series created by veteran R. Scott Gemmill does not feel so calculated. He gets to the point with the precision and speed of a doctor intubating a patient on the brink of death. Gemmill is an old school creator. Worked for years in procedural dramas such as ‘ER’, ‘JAG: Red Alert’ or ‘NCIS: Los Angeles’, his mastery of rhythm and narrative fluidity is astonishing, combining both characters (all very well drawn, from the doctors to the patients) and dramatic lines in an extraordinary way.
This second season keeps the virtues of the first intact. It is equally entertaining, emotional and inspiring. The staging retains its effectiveness, always at the service of the story and the actors. There are only two notable variations. The first is a greater critical load in his speech. I am not going to reveal anything: it is enough to point out that the series does not avoid the tensions of the sociopolitical reality of the United States nor is it afraid to take sides, incorporating conflicts that refer in a very recognizable way to the present.
The second modification is more questionable. What scriptwriter has thought of transforming Dr. Robby from a brilliant, sensitive and charismatic doctor, who deals with his traumas as best he can, to an asshole, tormented and narcissistic boss who is constantly looking for something to happen to him? Why, suddenly, has his existential malaise come to the fore, almost completely monopolizing the last episodes?
I suspect that it is the decision of the actor himself, Noah Wyle, who is also the writer, director and producer of the series. I suspect that his intention is to give more psychological richness to the character, confusing complexity with affectation, depth with “intensitism,” protagonism with hoarding. I suspect that, if they continue down that path in the third season, already confirmed, they are going to destroy the character.
