“I’ve seen more aggressive ball play in an airport men’s room.” – Wilfred
As much as I am enjoying watching and reviewing Wilfred each week, I still often find myself scratching my head and wondering what exactly it is I’m seeing on screen. In past weeks we’ve talked about how difficult it is to pin down precisely what genre the show falls into. Is it a dark comedy? A psychologically twisted sitcom? A trippy dramedy? Well, after this week’s episode, “Conscience,” I’m left pondering Wilfred on an even more basic level. Is this world of Wilfred a static one or is it dynamic?
Let me explain a little bit. What I mean is I’m questioning whether or not the characters on Wilfred, namely Wilfred (Jason Gann) and Ryan (Elijah Wood), are capable of change. Is this the kind of show where the characters learn things and grow as the season progresses or is Wilfred a show that hits the “Reset” button (i.e. Kenny on South Park) whenever the credits roll.
I ask this question because it occurred to me that Ryan learns the same lesson, or at least a variation on the same lesson, in virtually every episode. Wilfred manipulates Ryan into doing something he knows is wrong. When things go a little too far, Ryan realizes that he is being manipulated and stands up to Wilfred. Then it dawns on Ryan that it’s worth it for him to be manipulated by Wilfred. This is really the only way the dog knows how to behave and Ryan, for whatever reason, feels like he needs Wilfred in his life, so he allows Wilfred to take advantage of him. They have a seat on the couch, drink a couple of beers, do a couple of bong rips and prepare to learn the same lesson again week.
“Conscience,” as you may have guessed, deals directly with Ryan’s sense of right and wrong. On a basic level, all (or at the very least, most) of the episodes in the inaugural season involve, to varying degrees, a similar theme. Is it wrong to break into your neighbor’s house? What if your neighbor is a jerk or a criminal? Is it wrong to lie to a friend? What if you are lying to convince a friend to do something beneficial? Is it wrong to assist in bringing about a person’s death? What if the person is suffering and wants to die? Where do you draw the line? What happens when two people (or one person and one anthropomorphic dog) decide to draw that line along different coordinates?
Ryan, whose conscience appears pretty fluid and not particularly well-formed, seems, for the most part, to be able to recognize that hurting other people is crossing the line. Wilfred, however, is either unwilling or incapable of allowing the well-being of others to affect his conscience. To Wilfred, if something benefits him directly, regardless of the toll it takes on the people surrounding him, it’s good. If there’s nothing in it for him, it’s bad.
Ryan’s conscience is put the test by the return of Jenna’s (Fiona Gubleman) boyfriend, Drew (Chris Klein). Wilfred hates Drew because he treats him…well, like a dog. Drew is clearly an alpha-male and is not afraid to discipline his girlfriend’s pet with a rolled up newspaper if he doesn’t obey. “Your death will be my holiday,” Wilfred whispers under his breath after one such indecent. Despite the fact that Jenna loves Drew and he really makes her happy, Wilfred is determined to get rid of him. Sure, losing her boyfriend is bound to hurt Jenna, but since it would benefit Wilfred, his conscience is clear.
Of course Wilfred can’t break Drew and Jenna up on his own, so he enlists Ryan. Initially, Ryan is fine with plan. His conscience is easy to ignore when his mind is full of hot-neighbor-lady fantasies. It’s only after the relationship sabotage is successful that his guilt gets the better of him. Both Jenna (who Ryan genuinely cares about) and Drew (who, despite being a Grade A D-Bag, turns out to be a decent enough dude) are pretty devastated by the break-up.
Like always, Ryan eventually musters the balls to stand up to Wilfred for manipulating him into participating in something he knows deep down is wrong. He decides he has to reverse the damage he’s caused. But first, he takes a page out of Drew’s playbook and punishes Wilfred with a little thwap to the muzzle with a rolled-up magazine. Wilfred responds to the discipline with obedience (albeit temporary obedience). He <em>is </em>a dog after all and, despite his ability to smoke and creatively curse, he can’t fight his DNA. He’s genetically predisposed to take commands from a man with a stern voice and strong wrist. When the shock of the corporal punishment subsides, Wilfred decides he isn’t going to take that kind of abuse lying down.
This is where the episode really takes a weird turn. Ryan finds a brownie and a mysterious note from Jenna sitting on his kitchen table. Before going to next door to investigate the note, he decides to chow down on the brownie. Makes sense, the brownie DOES look delicious and, after all, Ryan is a full-blown stoner at this point. After he scarfs down the treat, his phone rings and Wilfred is on the other line calling from the basement. Wilfred, talking in a strangely manic British accent, claims to have poisoned his friend. Ryan rushes downstairs and scraps with the dog in the middle of a crude, home-made laboratory – presumably where Wilfred cooked up his brownie poison.
When the fight is over, Wilfred tells Ryan that if he doesn’t rush to the hospital the poison will kill him. At the ER, a doctor performs a tox-screen and finds no sign of anything in Ryan’s stomach other than chocolate. Wilfred assumed that humans are like dogs in the sense that they are deathly allergic chocolate. How adorable. Evil, yet adorable. Ryan is fine and discharged shortly.
On the drive home, Ryan, like always, finds a way to forgive Wilfred. He even offers an apology of his own, saying sorry for popping Wilfred on the nose. “I never wanted to dominate you, I just didn’t want to be dominated by you.” And after a healthy “couch-session” and a couple of jokes, the episode ends. Ryan learns the importance of making a stand on behalf of one’s own conscience, but also that he’s pretty much powerless in his friendship with Wilfred. Wilfred is like a runaway train. Sure, sometimes you can pump the brakes hard enough to get it to slow down, but most of the time you’re simply clinging on for dear life. Being on a runaway train is dangerous and possibly deadly, but it certainly makes you feel alive.
I don’t know about you, but it certainly feels like a “Reset” button has been pushed to me. We’ve seen Ryan learn these lessons before, a couple of times actually. Is this intentional, or merely a coincidence? Or maybe a result of writers failing to come up with sufficient original material, thus repeating themselves? I’m still not sure. Maybe next week’s episode will give us some perspective and shed a little more light on the situation. Stay tuned.
This review originally appeared on TV Geek Army.