*sobbing noises*

We’re inundated with brilliant, ambitious television. Community, when it returns, is sure to test the boundaries of what a traditional sitcom can be. Parks and Recreation consistently churns out episodes that leave viewers with both laughs and lingering feelings of optimism. Mad Men boasts the best writing of perhaps any show ever, capitalizing on subtleties of character and of diction that are difficult to comprehend. Breaking Bad is an all-time great movie somehow stuck in the wrong medium, shedding away the inferior label that TV shows used to get stuck with.

30 Rock has been somewhat grandfathered in to this golden age of television. The oft-forgotten Tina Fey vehicle has not steamrolled its competition, but rather lazed by, consistently solid but rarely transcendental. It’s not a show to end all shows. But as it concludes, it’s important to contextualize one of the most innovative, creative endeavors of our time. To understand its effects on the medium at large – a medium that it both playfully mocked and worshipped at the throne to – check out its competition in the early days. In 2007, the cast and crew took home an Emmy for Outstanding Comedy Series. Its competition?

· A third-season The Office, which represented a rapid downturn in quality from its monumental second season.

· The third season of Entourage, which was either nominated inexplicably or the frat bros’ dorm-room poster campaign finally made some headway.

· The opening season of Ugly Betty, which, while not rage-inducingly horrible, does define “middling.”

· Two and a Half Men: Rage-inducingly horrible.

30 Rock ushered in a new era of niche scripted television, one in which, for comedies at least, is in dire straights. Its finale, while appropriately timed and immensely satisfying, just reminds TV-philes that one of the first truly generation-defining, TV-fan pandering shows is over. The Office’s farewell tour is coming to a close, Community will likely follow suit, Parks and Rec is in jeopardy and TV critics are well on their way to talking themselves into calling the funny but formulaic New Girl TV’s best comedy.

30 Rock was rarely the highlight of Thursday nights, but it was a pioneering mainstay that I will miss tremendously.

Before we say goodbye, let’s go over last night’s episode, which will go down as one of the very best goodbye-hugs that TV has ever offered.

Liz Lemon is bored. The “having it all” arc has not concluded, not quite yet. A good-enough, loving husband, two children and a day free of TGS stress does not give her the happiness she thought it would; she’s a working woman. And after a message-board fight with a nice-cheekboned lady turns out to be a nice-cheekboned Criss, the two realize their roles are reversed. Criss should quit as receptionist of a dentist’s office (because that’s what being an ethnomusicology major at Wesleyan gets you), and Liz should start pitching shows to new NBC president Kenneth.

Kenneth, it turns out, is not in the market for shows about TV run by women, because how could a show like that exist? But, he does have a job for Liz: a final TGS episode, as the show is one short of a Tracy contractual obligation. The crew must rally together – and the writers must group up on Lutz to escape the horrors of ordering Blimpie – to finagle one last goodbye to America. At its best, 30 Rock was never an ode to Saturday Night Live, as it originally intended, but rather a warm embrace to TV itself, and the art of putting on one last show is not lost on Fey and company.

The one blip, though, is Tracy will receive $30 million if the show does not go on. As his plans fall through to single-handedly ruin the scheduled episode, he, in nostalgic wonder, disappears. When Liz characteristically finds him at a strip club, Tracy unveils the truth: He can’t say goodbye. The money is not at the crux of the matter; his father is. His father who left without a goodbye, only with a promise of a cigarette-run. In self-referential beauty, he’s not ready to bid adieu to the cast and crew who have become his ersatz family. And after two tries, Liz persuades him to come back; they may only be close because their situations dictate them to be, but she’s glad they’re friends. It’s a nice moment, and it leads to Jenna’s terrific if bizarre rendering of the theme to “Rural Juror,” which is not only hysterical and charming, but it lends a nostalgic endearment to those who’ve stuck through the show since the beginning.

Meanwhile, as Liz now understands that she must return to work, Jack realizes work is all he has. In some instances, that has spurred him to fully immerse himself in GE, but being the finale, Jack’s crisis takes on an existential form. The new network CEO, just weeks after the promotion, steps down. The eternal capitalist is jobless and searching for meaning, which represents a nice bookmark to this journey that truly began when his mother died, offering as parting advice, “I just want you to be happy.” Jack makes a “Sigma Wheel of Happiness Domination,” in which he reimagines his business goals as his life goals, but transitioning a homeless man into a wise anchorman can’t change Jack’s outlook. More strangely, persuading two of his former, lovely flames – Nancy and Elisa (Julianne Moore and Salma Hayak) – into a group sex party just isn’t fulfilling enough for him.

Liz and Jack’s paths intercross, as they are wont to do, with a conclusion that will go down in the TV Hall of Fame, if only such a thing existed. The relationship that the show is based upon, and yet somehow isn’t of the will-they/won’t-they variety, reaches its apex as the two characters reflect and search for meaning. After some harsh words, the two realize the impact each has had on the other; Liz’s quest for inner happiness has softened a perpetually hardened Jack, who’s now unemployed. Jack’s never-ending hunt for material happiness through hard work has toughened Liz, who is now desperate for real work again. The two are codependent, and an emotional goodbye from an at-sea Jack is short-lived; he’s channeled his inner Huck Finn and has found the answer on the water. Clear dishwashers! So people can see their utensils washed in real-time!

30 Rock’s cast is packed, so there’re a few subplots that go by the wayside this week – Pete trying unsuccessfully to fake his own death, Jenna’s search for a rebound job, Kenneth’s immortality – but the relationship between Liz and Jack is the heart of the show. It’s sad to say that the heart has finally stopped beating, but wow, did it go out in style.

30 Rock isn’t the best comedy ever. It’s not as witty as Arrested Development, it’s not as culturally significant as Friends, it doesn’t even have the earnest heart that Parks and Rec demonstrates week after week. But, in a time when fans of the boob tube had to choose between Ugly Betty and Two and Half Men, 30 Rock offered a glimmering light at the end of a dark, Charlie-Sheen lined tunnel. It’ll live on in syndication and Diamondback-staff jokes, but that I can’t be excited for the next season is blerg-worthy.

Tidbits:

· “You’re just an alcoholic with a great voice.”

· “He’s avoiding me. What am I, my son’s piano recital?”

· “‘J’ as in the bird I’m afraid of….”

· “I’ve pissed off all my enemies. Pelosi, Maddow … Baldwin.”

· “The night is young, and neither are you.”

· “He’s in a really bad place, like when Mickey Rourke … OK, I just can’t do this.” (Turns to camera) “I’ve never met Mickey Rourke.”

· “You frustrated me and you wore me out. And because the human heart is not properly connected to the human brain, I love you and I’m going to miss you.”

· In true form, it ends with a wink at the history of television, with a St. Elsewhere fakeout. I will miss this show.

· “I love you too, Jack.”

· “Thanks you, America. That’s our show. Not a lot of people watched it, but the joke’s on you, because we got paid anyway.”

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