On Grey's Anatomy and the State of Television (SPOILERS)

As many of you know, I was not a fan of this year's Grey's Anatomy season finale. And Vic got so tired of hearing "Why Lexie???" and then "Well, if Lexie wanted to leave, then why did she have to go out that way???" and "Argh! That plane crash was just a way to get a season's worth of stories without actually having to think of real story lines because that would be too hard for the poor writers. Boo hoo!" All delivered in an extremely whiny voice.

But Facebook and Twitter don't allow me the space I need to rant about this. So I started a new blog. Those of you familiar with The Cancer Blog will know that I am a horrible blogger in terms of frequency—and in fact, I've often said that I would never start a blog because who would want to read anything I had to say? The Cancer Blog is one thing—it's informative, so people got a lot out of it. But this is just going to be rambling musings about insignificant topics. We'll see what becomes of it.

And my first insignificant topic is Grey's Anatomy and the state of television. WARNING: There will be spoilers ahead, so if you haven't watched the Grey's Anatomy season finale and don't want to have it ruined for you (although I might argue that watching the Grey's Anatomy season finale will ruin you, so ...), STOP READING NOW.

Let's start with Lexie Grey. Around the end of April, Shonda Rhimes (Grey's Anatomy's creator) said, "A beloved character will die on the shocking season finale, leaving the fans crying." My first thought was "It's Lexie," and I spent the next two weeks obsessing over why—and trying to figure out who else would be more beloved than Lexie who could die instead. But the more I thought about it, the less likely it was that anyone else could be desribed as "beloved." I mean, I love me my Grey's Anatomy cast, but "beloved" can only be applied to Lexie. And so it was true. Lexie died in a plane crash (more on that later).

I read that Ms. Rhimes said "... I did what I had to do. I did what was necessary in order to tell the story that we needed to tell and tell it in the way we needed to tell us and to take us into next season the way we needed to be led there."

To that I reply, "Poppycock. You are the head writer and the creator of this show. You can tell whatever story you want to tell. If Chyler Leigh (the actress who plays Lexie) wants off the show"—and there are a lot of stories that lead me to believe that is the case—"there are a lot of other ways to get her off the show than killing her—and in such a meaningless way."

I get it. Not every death can have meaning. Not everyone can die by getting dragged under a bus because he pushed someone else out of the way (RIP, George) or by covering a bomb with his body to save everyone else (RIP, Kyle Chandler). But when you're letting a "beloved character" go, give her a decent end! OR DON'T KILL HER AT ALL!! Maybe her father has become chief of staff to the president of the United States and she has to move to Washington D.C. to be close to him. (Or maybe I'm just mixing up my shows.) Maybe she gets an offer from Hopkins or Mayo or Tulane (but not those, since Alex, Cristina and Jackson already got them—but you know what I mean) that is simply too good to pass up.

One of my friends asked me, "But was it a good death? You know, as opposed to contrived." And this is a brilliant segue (thank you, Michelle) to my second point of the day. No. It wasn't a good death. Lexie's death—in fact, the whole plane crash—seem like a plot contrivance to get another year's worth of stories written. Now we can watch Mark and Meredith grieve for Lexie. Will Cristina go into PTSD again, like she did after the shooting? I don't see Derek heading back into surgery anytime soon with that mangled hand. What will a man whose entire identity is wrapped up in what he is do when he can't do what he does?

Now again I say, I get it. It's TV. You have to invent some drama because no one wants to watch a drama called The Love Shack, starring two boring people who do nothing but work, watch TV and talk about how cute their dog is. Sure, every once in awhile one of them dies or gets cancer, but no one wants to watch cancer week in and week out. TV audiences don't mind cancer—but it either has to be a cancer scare that gets resolved within the hour, or it can have a four episode arc (diagnosis, first treatment, subsequent treatment when you look like crap, and clean CT scan). On The Love Shack you would have seen seven weeks of cancer treatment and lots of napping. Even I don't want to watch that show.

But I digress.

Grey's Anatomy is a hospital drama. Do you know what happens at a hospital? DRAMA. Sick people come in. Some get better. Some get worse. Some don't make it. Some make miraculous recoveries. Would they all come to Seattle Grace Mercy Death, er, I mean, Mercy West? Of course not. Am I willing to pretend that they would? Absolutely. But what I'm not willing to believe is that one small group of people would have this much bad luck. Meredith alone has had her finger on a bomb inside a person, she drowned in a ferry accident, she had a miscarriage after watching her husband get shot by a mass murderer who gunned down practically the entire hospital, she was in an ambulance accident and now this. And that's just what I can remember sitting here at my keyboard without Googling "what other disasters have befallen Meredith Grey?" One of those things might happen. Maybe two, a few years apart. But all of them? As well as losing Derek's Alzheimer's trial and (almost) baby Zola? But I guess it's just easier coming up with a big event that can create a year's worth of stories than telling a different medical story each week.

And don't get me wrong—Grey's Anatomy is only one show out of many that this happens on. Remember Sisters? It started as a family drama about four sisters and their families. For a year, it was really good. It showed the normal relationships you have with your family. The dramas were small but relatable. But I guess there are only so many small but relatable stories you can tell. Sisters lost me when Georgie (one of the sisters) got into a car accident and got trapped inside her car. "What's wrong with that?" you say. "Nothing," I say, except Georgie was pregnant. With Frankie's (another one of the sisters) baby. And then she went into labor.

The same thing happens with couples—you bring them together, you pull them apart, you bring them together, and you pull them apart again. And not in the way it really happens but through plot contrivances. One character witnesses the other character in an act and misconstrues it—but instead of clarifying the act, the character withdraws. Pulled apart. Uh-oh! Trapped in a burning building! Brought together. But who shows up after the fire? His ex. Pulled apart again.

And don't even get me started on the lines, "I'm pregnant," "I have your daughter/son/husband/wife/dog, and I'm going to kill them unless I get what I want" and "Are you working late again?"

So listen up, writers, show runners, producers, actors and anyone else out there who thinks you have to do something "for the story," "for the character," "for the show." No, you don't. You can do something "for the fans." The people who watch your show every week. The people without whom you don't have a show. The TV universe is filled with successful shows that don't invent drama for the sake of drama (see Blue Bloods). That put a couple together well (see Jim and Pam on The Office). That have spouses who support each other instead of constantly sniping about "the job" (see White Collar—no, seriously, see White Collar. Matt Bomer is hot).

You are on notice.

Meanwhile, rest in peace, Lexie Grey. You were, indeed, beloved, and you will be sorely missed.