99 Reasons for Gratitude

2025 has been a tough year, and I needed sources of comfort. Friends and family have filled that role admirably, but so have books, films, and television shows. Sometimes escapism is necessary. But beyond escapism, I find I need narratives to remind me of good people, good thoughts, good behaviour. 

This morning I finished Brooklyn Nine-Nine, a police procedural sitcom set in Brooklyn's Precinct 99. The world of the show is a somewhat sanitized version of New York; crime exists and sometimes there are murders, but generally the police officers conduct themselves as embodiments of the "to serve and protect" mythology. The officers of the 99 may not be bastions of professionalism, often goofing off and getting themselves into crazy shenanigans, but they don't abuse suspects or ignore the rule of law. They're also very good at their jobs, closing cases more often than not. It's a vision of policing that we want to be true, and the actors and writers create characters we care about and root for; they're good people, and they're a family. 

Of course, as a sitcom, the show needs to deliver laughs; it does so, consistently. The writing is sharp, the gags land where they should, there's great humour in the characters' personalities and their relationships, and the show's not afraid to take advantage of slapstick, bad puns, and utter absurdity, often veering into the cartoonish. 

It's also full of heart. The show is progressive, inclusive, and forgiving. But in 2020, events in the real world--COVID-19, the murder of George Floyd and the Black Lives Matter movement--made Brooklyn Nine-Nine seem hopelessly naïve. The eighth and final season--shortened to just 10 episodes--attempts to address Black Lives Matter by injecting serious notes of reflection and reform throughout its last batch of storylines. It's a noble effort from all concerned, and yet I got the impression that everyone involved in the show's production felt they really couldn't continue to make this kind of show, even as they acknowledged the incredible rift in trust between the public and their (supposed) public servants on the police force. 

As a result, the final season is rather bittersweet--not just the end of a particular comedic narrative, but maybe the end of innocence for sitcoms in general. 

And yet, I'm grateful I watched to the end. I love these characters--Jake, the class clown who grew to genuine maturity by series' end; Amy, the anxious nerd; Rosa, the mysterious femme fatale who suppressed her emotions with Vulcan-like will; Terry, the excitable sergeant with the massive muscles and massive love for his wife and three daughters; the baby-faced, eccentric Charles, Jake's loyal best friend; Gina, somehow the best and worst executive assistant in the city; Hitchcock and Scully, the worst detectives in the city; and Captain Holt, played with remarkable skill, intensity, and wit by the remarkable Andre Braugher--gone too soon. 

These folks made me laugh, and they reminded me that a better world exists within us, if only we choose to build it.