NBC announced over the weekend that my favorite show, Parks and Recreation, will have one final thirteen-episode season, and then go to the big public forum in the sky. Done! Gone! Cancelled! But I have to tell you: I think this is okay news.
Parks and Rec has lived a good life. It’s had a surprising number of seasons for a show that spent its entire run on the brink of cancellation (just today, a 2012 episode of Pop Culture Happy Hour referred to the then-imminent fifth season as “almost certainly its last”). It’s still pretty strong creatively—the season finale was a wonderful, tears-inducing hug of an episode—but it’s getting short on runway, a fact that was addressed in the final moments of that finale by a three-year fast-forward. Best of all, the decision to end the show appears (according to creator Mike Schur, on Twitter) to have been a mutual decision between the show’s producers and NBC. They’ll have plenty of time to wrap things up in style, and everybody involved can move on to new adventures with a fully formed series behind them. In the TV business, this is about as good as it gets.
Don’t get me wrong: I’ll spend a few disappointed Thursday nights without new Parks and Rec to show me the good in the world. I still look forward to new episodes, and I still tune in as soon as the DVR has enough of a lead to skip the commercials. But unlike other shows that are more about plot and less about beloved characters in a well-rounded universe, more episodes are just icing on the cake of six whole seasons of delight. As long as I have the show we’ve already loved, I think we’re good.
Cancellation is a weird thing: it sounds like tragedy, and it can be. Nobody likes seeing a good show, or a promising show that’s still finding its voice, cut down for commercial reasons. And our natural human response is, if three seasons is good, six or eight or (heaven help us) twelve must be better! But let me tell you, there’s a whole lot of long-running television out there, from Grey’s Anatomy to the extreme case of The Simpsons, contradicting that impulse. Even for good shows, cancellation can be a blessed relief: I’ve been watching Mad Men for nearly a decade, and I’m watching Don’s spiral into the 70s with as much interest as anybody, but that doesn’t mean I’m not counting down to the final half-season, which won’t air until 2015. Even the cancellation of Community, a show equally beloved to Parks and Rec but far more hotly contested due to production-side drama, doesn’t bother me. Community‘s fun and interesting and innovative, and I’m so pleased that we got to have it in the world, but I think maybe it’s said what it had to say. It makes NBC like seventy-five dollars a year, because only nine people—nine very vocal people—watch it. Five seasons may not be #sixseasonsandamovie, but it’s still a long time. I see why the network might want to give that space to something else, and I don’t think that, after giving it five seasons, it’s an unfair decision.
Parks and Rec isn’t the only show to get a season’s notice, but I think it embodies the recent trend of cancelling shows well, giving producers and audiences time to prepare. I also think it embodies a show that’s ready to go: it could keep going, but it doesn’t have to; its cast is almost uniformly on the brink of bigger things; its producers have been doing this for seven years. (I, personally, have never had the same job for seven years.) I think it’s a show that’s prepared to let go, and I’m prepared to let it go.