"Okay, should we get some coffee?" "Sure. Where?"
The ending of Friends seems to be about as happy as
a sitcom finale can get -- but what if this resolution
is actually a lot sadder than it first appears?
After a successful 10-year run, the hit show about a group
of twenty-somethings struggling with relationships, careers,
and adulthood concludes with everyone getting exactly
what they always wanted.
Ross and Rachel end up together at last.
"And I am never letting you go again.”
Monica and Chandler become parents (and even get one more child
than they asked for).
Phoebe has already gotten married to her soulmate.
Even Joey gets his own modest version of happily ever after.
"I put three lasagnas in your freezer." "I love you!"
On closer inspection, though, Friends' happy ending carries notes of tragedy.
While the finale finds almost everyone moving on to exciting new chapters,
it also closes the book on the chapter that viewers invested in.
“I guess this is it.” “Yeah, I guess so.”
It brings a symbolic close to youth -— telling us definitively that the time
in our lives when all that matters is being there for our friends is limited.
"It's gonna be weird, like, when I come home and you're not here.”
Sooner or later, your friends will leave you behind.
And if that weren’t sad enough, this show which centered on that phase
when the future appears limitless leaves some of its central sextet
trapped in increasingly narrow life paths.
"And a street where our kids can ride their bikes,
and maybe an ice-cream truck can go by." "So you wanna buy a house in the '50s."
"Have you thought about what you're giving up?"
Here’s our Take on why Friends’ series finale
is more disheartening than it seems -- and whether the audience’s demand
for an ending that satisfies expectations can sometimes
deny a show’s characters a truer form of happiness.
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As Friends wraps up with an emotional farewell
to the iconic apartment where Monica, Rachel, Joey, Chandler, Phoebe, and Ross
spent so much time together, we’re left with the bleak image
of an empty, barren space, where there once was so much color,
goofiness and good times.
“It was a happy place ... filled with love and laughter.”
Together, the friends mourn the end of their shared era --
the death of their friend group in its ultra-tight-knit form --
as everyone prepares to go their separate ways.
[crying] "This is harder than I thought it would be."
Countering the obvious bittersweetness of the friends
(and audiences) having to say goodbye,
“Seems smaller somehow.”
The finale gives each main character an individual ending
that’s positioned as moving on to bigger and better things.
But by looking closer, we can see that some of these
conclusions aren’t quite as happy as they seem.
The main story of the finale revolves around Rachel,
who’s leaving New York to start a new job with Louis Vuitton in Paris.
Ross and Rachel have long delayed resolving their relationship,
comforted by the idea that they’ll always have the option of a reunion.
“With us, it’s never off the table."
But faced with the prospect of possibly losing Rachel for good,
Ross finally admits he can’t live without her.
"You can finally get over her." "I don't wanna get over her."
"What?" "I don't! I wanna be with her."
With Phoebe’s help, Ross makes a mad dash to the airport
to tell her how he feels -- only it doesn’t go the way he planned.
"They're waiting for me, Ross. I can't do this right now,
I'm sorry. I'm sorry." "Rachel?"
When Ross gets back home, though, Rachel surprises him.
“I got off the plane.”
She decided to stay, realizing she can’t live without him either.
"Because this is where I want to be."
For one of TV’s all-time most iconic couples that spent
nearly a decade falling in and out of love,
it’s exactly the happy ending that audiences spent ten seasons waiting for.
"For the last time, why aren't you two together again?"
But on deeper inspection, the way that this reunion comes about
equals an unfortunate ending for Rachel, who’s been effectively prevented
from finally taking a big step forward in her individual life.
“Was I excited about working in the fashion capital of the world?
Oh, absolutely.”
When we first meet Rachel, she’s lost --
a runaway bride who doesn’t know what she wants out of life.
She’s a spoiled girl who’s never even held down a job
before becoming a waitress at Central Perk.
"Rachel, Rachel, sweetheart. You're a terrible, terrible waitress.
Really, really awful."
A few seasons later, Rachel would land her dream job
at Bloomingdale’s -- only for Ross to immediately
grow jealous of her colleague, Mark, and accuse Rachel
of not having enough time for him.
“Do you realize this is the first time in my life I’m doing something
I actually care about?”
And while we all remember their infamous “break” and Ross sleeping with Chloe
(“the girl from the Xerox place”), what really first leads to their split
is Ross’ overbearing, unsupportive reaction
to Rachel's achieving some independence and professional success
for their first time in her life.
“I don’t feel like I even have a girlfriend anymore, Rachel.”
“Ross, what do you want from me? You want me to quit my job
so you feel like you have a girlfriend?”
When Mark reappears in the final season to offer Rachel another
life-changing job in Paris, that same dynamic we saw in Season 3
repeats all over again.
Rachel is clearly excited for a future that’s bigger
than what she dreamed possible in her career.
“I’m so happy.”
And once again, Ross feels threatened,
puts his own feelings before Rachel’s fulfillment,
and selfishly tries to prevent her from following through.
Seasons earlier, when Ross was about to marry Emily,
Rachel raced to tell him she loved him before the wedding --
something even complete strangers could tell her was totally selfish.
"You are a horrible, horrible person. You say you love this man,
yet you’re about to ruin the happiest day of his life."
But unlike Ross, Rachel ultimately made the choice
to respect Ross’s decision, instead wishing him well
on his new path,
"I just needed to tell you ... Congratulations."
and waiting to share her feelings until after Ross’ marriage
had already fallen apart.
"I'm still in love with you, Ross."
This ironic parallel to the finale underscores that the dynamic
in their relationship is ultimately very uneven.
Ross won’t give up being close to his son or his own career in New York
to be with Rachel in Paris.
So it’s up to Rachel to sacrifice her own dreams to fulfill his.
“I’m fine going back to a job where I’ve pretty much
gotten everything out of it that I possibly can.”
Given that this show opened with Rachel abandoning her safe
but boring fiancé for a scary, exciting life in New York City,
there’s something dispiriting about the choice to conclude her arc
with her giving up an amazing opportunity to settle down with a man.
Plus, after all these years, the couple still hasn’t really resolved
what’s so unhealthy about their dynamic.
As two adults raising a child together (and sometimes living together),
they’ve had plenty of opportunities to revisit their feelings
and come together in a mature partnership.
“We don’t wanna go down that road, do we?”
“No, No.”
But Ross’s love for Rachel is only reignited
by the sudden threat of losing her; his declaration of commitment
is a rash decision based on fear and his own immediate desires.
So after all these two have been through,
they’re rebuilding their relationship on especially shaky ground.
"No more messing around. I don't wanna mess this up again."
This lack of a solid foundation leaves open the possibility
for yet more dissatisfaction and even resentment to come.
"This is it. Unless we're on a break." "Don't make jokes now."
Before the show ends, Phoebe gets her own happily ever after
by marrying Mike.
It’s an ending that gives Phoebe the stability she’s never had
and has come to realize she needs.
“When I was growing up, I didn’t have a normal mom and dad.
But now I’m standing here today knowing that I have everything
I’m ever gonna need.”
She came from a broken family, spent some time being homeless,
and had even resorted to crime.
“I guess your mugging days are behind you."
"Oh.”
Ending the show settled down with a nice guy,
surrounded by friends, Phoebe is undeniably
at her most secure and loved -- which feels like a reward
after a life of so much trauma and abandonment.
"And I spent my sweet sixteen being chased round a tire yard
by an escaped mental patient who, in his own words,
wanted to 'kill me' or whatever."
That said, marriage is also
a rather mundane ending for Phoebe’s character --
and one that speaks to how the show often suppressed
what made her unique.
Throughout the series, we see glimpses
of Phoebe’s eccentric talents.
"Oui, bien sur je parle Français!"
"Man, it must be so cool remembering stuff like that!
I don't have any past life memories."
"Of course you don't, sweetie. You're brand new!"
She’s also exceptionally caring toward both her friends
and the world at large.
“These jerks might not care about you, but the universe does!"
She volunteers to be a surrogate for her half-brother
with barely a second thought.
"Pheebs, you’re talking about putting your body through an awful lot,
I mean morning sickness, uh, labour, and it’s all for somebody else."
"Yeah, what’s your point?"
More than anything, Phoebe is an individual,
remaining indifferent to social norms or what others think.
“People were looking at us like we were crazy!"
"Why do you care?"
So while her story ending in marriage to a sweet but bland guy is joyful,
it’s also a lackluster endpoint for this colorful person
with so much unusual potential to offer the world.
Rather than realizing and following through on what makes her unique,
over the seasons Phoebe increasingly assimilated
into becoming more like her normal, essentially vanilla friends.
“I haven’t exactly had a normal life, and I never really felt
like I was missing out on anything, but it just-it feels like it's my turn
to have some of the regular stuff.”
This unconventional free spirit decides that all she really wants
is her own conventional married life.
“Oh my God, load up the Volvo, I want to be a soccer mom!”
She also gets married five episodes before the finale,
leaving her with little to do in the last episode
besides drive Ross to the airport and get in one last joke
about her fictional alter-ego, Regina Phalange.
“Something is wrong with the left phalange!”
As in much of the series, Phoebe ends the show being reduced
to playing a supporting role in her friends’ far less interesting lives.
While his friends all get happy endings, Joey’s fate is left
more or less a question mark.
“Has it always been purple?”
That’s because Matt LeBlanc’s character was set to get his own spinoff, Joey,
which presented a problem for Friends’ showrunners,
who were forced to leave his ending open for a new show to explore.
As a result, Joey ends up essentially
just being left behind as the people he loves most in the world
all move on without him.
“You gonna buy a new one?”
“Probably not. I dunno how much I’m gonna wanna play after you go.”
This lack of an ending for Joey reflects his lack of real growth
over the course of the show.
“Nah, I don’t have another level!”
Friends began with Joey as an eternally single, struggling actor,
“You know about how I'm always seeing girls on top of girls?”
and it ends with him -- though moderately more successful --
pretty much the same.
"Yeah, I know what you mean. I mean, sometimes-"
"Uh, Joe?" "Damn it!"
Only now, he’s in his mid-30s, his life remaining stagnant,
while all of his friends are taking significant leaps.
“I could get a goose!”
The closest he gets to actual growth is sacrificing his foosball table
to rescue his pet birds.
"It's like I would have said in that sci-fi movie if I'd gotten the part.
'Those are our men in there, we have to get 'em out!'"
His only real closure is with Chandler, who assures him
they’ll still be friends,
"You don't think we'd buy a house and not have a Joey room, do you?"
even though we know it won’t really be the same.
Joey was never the most sophisticated character,
but the later seasons introduced the potential for change
in his controversial, ill-fated romantic relationship
with Rachel.
“When Joey and I were together ... he didn’t sleep with anyone else!"
"Growth.”
Yet by the finale, this future is long forgotten:
Joey openly cheers Ross on in his quest to win Rachel back.
"You can't just give up! Is that what a dinosaur would do?"
Earlier in the final season, we even watch Joey freak out
when a date tries to eat some food off his plate --
“Joey doesn’t share food!”
and while this is played for laughs as a quintessential example
of Joey being Joey, his inability to consider sharing
anything with a potential partner might make us feel pity
for this person who’s been unable to evolve or mature
like all his friends have.
Ultimately, Joey’s lack of resolution
is the saddest ending any of the friends gets:
he doesn’t want to leave behind this chapter of freedom,
spontaneity, and putting your friends first.
But no one else is willing to remain there with him,
so he’s left there all alone.
“All alone ... forever.”
Adding insult to injury, the Joey spinoff was canceled
before it could air its own finale.
“Like, they’re taking it off the air?"
So the character remains trapped in this limbo forever.
Perhaps the happiest ending is granted to Monica and Chandler,
who finally achieve their dream of becoming parents,
and even find their family size doubled when their surrogate
gives birth to twins.
"Well, now we have one of each!”
It’s the culmination of a long journey for these friends-turned-lovers,
both as a couple and as individuals.
Monica has spent much of the series talking about wanting to have children,
“You’ll get one.” “Oh yeah, when?”
“When we’re forty, if neither of us are married,
what do you say you and I get together and have one?”
“I wanna have a baby.”
and this controlling Type-A has at last made her major life goal a reality
by accepting that motherhood might not come to her
in exactly the way she’s always planned.
“Adoption.” “How do you feel about that?”
“I think I feel okay about it.”
Meanwhile, Chandler -- thanks to the big leaps he’s taken
in his professional and personal lives over the series --
has evolved from a neurotic, commitment-phobic bachelor
into a mature, self-assured individual
who’s ready to be a father.
They’ve made what many would consider a sensible choice
to leave New York City for a quieter, calmer place to raise the kids.
“We want a lawn and a swing set.”
It’s an adult decision,
“We’re getting a house." "And a baby."
"We’re growing up!”
reflecting Chandler outgrowing the bachelor lifestyle
he’s enjoyed with Joey,
“Good game, good game, good game, good game, good game, good game.”
and Monica is relinquishing some of her need for control
by facing the uncertainty of their future.
"Twins!" "Chandler, you're panicking."
"Uh-huh! Join me, won't you?"
In return, the finale gives them what they’ve always wanted --
and more.
"We’re so lucky.”
They’re ready to start their new life as a family in the suburbs --
but while all this is far from sad, the repercussions certainly are.
Moving to the suburbs isn’t essential for raising kids,
especially when you have an apartment as spacious as Monica’s and Chandler’s.
“What is wrong with raising a kid in the city? I’m doing it.”
It’s a choice they make for their family,
which necessarily means spending a lot less time with their friend circle.
"If you want to look for a house, that's okay."
"No. No, it's not. Don't listen to him. I'm gonna thump you."
As both the physical and emotional center of the circle,
Monica and Chandler moving officially marks the end to the group
as we once knew it and the life they’ve all been sharing these past ten seasons.
Things will never be the same. The Friends, as we knew them, are over.
"About an hour ago, we made an offer."
Friends captures that time in your life —-
mid-twenties, post-college and pre-career --
when you’re trying to figure out how to become an adult.
“Welcome to the real world! It sucks. You’re gonna love it.”
You date the wrong people, you make bad choices,
you behave immaturely, all in that last window of time
before you simply can’t put off responsibility any longer.
“I just think I’m past the point where I can, you know, just have fun.”
It’s an age when nothing matters more than your friends --
and when your friends become your family.
All this is the basis of Friends’ enduring appeal.
“Boyfriends and girlfriends are gonna come and go,
but this is for life!”
When it premiered in 1994, Friends was one of the few series
on television to depict young, single people.
Most sitcoms were about families or adults who were already
well-established in their careers.
Even Fox’s Living Single, the show Friends most closely resembled,
was about successful professionals.
But Friends showed us twenty-somethings who were struggling,
relying on each other for support.
“Everyone I know is either getting married or getting pregnant
or getting promoted, and I'm getting coffee!
And it's not even for me!”
Since it went off the air, our culture has even more widely
embraced the idea of your twenties as an elongated adolescence.
“I can pass for 19, right?"
“You can play your own age, which is 31!"
More people today are waiting until well into their 30s
to marry and start families, taking extra time
to figure themselves out.
Friends, with its portrait of a tight-knit family of close friends
rallying around each other -- while living in the kind of enormous
Manhattan apartments that only TV characters can afford --
offers an aspirational example of a youth that never needs to end.
But the finale undercuts this fantasy by emphasizing
another universal experience:
Eventually, you and your friends grow apart.
Many of them start real families and move on.
"I feel like I'm losing my friends."
"My parents say I'm gonna make new friends."
"Oh, yeah, sure, easy for you, you're young."
"Me, I'm set in my ways!"
Married couples often seek out other married friends,
while singles start the difficult search for new single friends.
"No more J-man and Channy's!"
So the melancholy of the finale comes from this acknowledgment
that those seemingly endless years, when we have plenty of time
to pull ourselves together and simply enjoy
being around our friends, are actually incredibly short.
“Want to go over to Joey and Chandler's? Can't. It's not there."
We can’t just keep sitting around a coffee shop all day,
laughing with our friends.
"It's not all laughing, happy, candy-in-the-sky,
drinking coffee in Central Perk all the time, it's real life, okay?"
Eventually, we have to start dating the right people,
or else risk ending up alone.
We have to start making the right choices --
not just about our careers, but about where to live,
what to eat, how to take care of ourselves.
The show continues to attract fans who are living through
their own directionless twenties, eagerly looking forward to them,
or nostalgically looking back.
“My time machine works!”
But the finale puts a definitive time limit on it all --
reminding us this phase of life, which Friends made so appealing,
won’t last forever.
Of course, when the Friends finale aired in 2004 after months of hype,
audiences and critics were mostly left satisfied.
The finale focused on giving viewers what would feel
most narratively rewarding and offer us the most closure.
“I’m going to go after her.” "Yeah, you are!”
But did it meet those expectations and please audiences
at the expense of the lives and dreams of the characters?
Does denying Rachel the opportunity to follow her career aspirations
make the audience as selfish as Ross?
"Don't go." "What?"
Likewise, Monica and Chandler might get the dream of a family
which we want for them, but the series doesn’t resolve
whether Monica’s life as a suburban mom will allow space for her career
as a chef in Manhattan -- and shouldn’t that be important,
after how hard we’ve seen her work for it?
"Can you believe it? I finally get to run my own kitchen!"
"Oh, you've waited so long."
Are these endings truly the most satisfying
for the characters themselves and for the story of what it means
to transition into full adulthood?
If Rachel had stayed on the plane, if Monica and Chandler had decided
to make it work in Manhattan, if Phoebe had figured out,
at long last, that her friends were, actually, pretty boring --
these would have been endings that more closely (and interestingly)
reflected who they were and what life is actually like.
“Sometimes, things don’t work out the way you thought they would.”
Still, when it comes to TV finales, our expectations as an audience
are rarely about what feels truthful.
We demand grand, emotional closure from these stories --
probably because we know we won’t get it ourselves.
"Who's gonna buy that, they get together?"
"What couples get together in the end?"
And that gulf between the fantasy and our reality is what really lends
an unshakable feeling of sadness even to the happiest of endings.
Ultimately, the Friends finale is sad because it’s about change.
“Feels like when Melrose Place got canceled.”
It reminds us that nothing ever stays the same.
“Do you realize at one time or another we all lived in this apartment?”
It’s especially poignant because Friends is a show
about how it feels to be young: Full of angst and anticipation,
but also carefree and confident that everything will somehow work out.
As the creators described the show in their original pitch,
“It's about sex, love, relationships, careers, a time in your life
when everything's possible.”
But inevitably, those possibilities narrow.
Those relationships and careers take off, and suddenly,
spending time with our friends becomes less frequent, less important.
Like a TV show, our youth always comes to an end.
But like a great TV show, it also lives on forever in memories,
and in reruns -- always there for us.
There’s sadness in that. But there’s happiness, too.
"What about that summer during college that you lived with Grandma ...
and you tried to make it as a dancer?"
"Do you realize we almost made it 10 years without that coming up?"
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