Offspring as a construct: On mourning the loss of Patrick

Last week Mum and I sat on the couch clutching one another and blubbering ‘IT’S NOT REAL. IT’S NOT REAL’ as our beloved Patrick passed away on the hit tv show Offspring. ‘ITS ALL A BAD DREAM’ we shrieked as the males of our household tiptoed around us and checked to see whether some catastrophic news event/cataclysmic domestic injury had sparked our outburst. Spurred on by the worksafe ad in the ad break whereby another husband/chosen one nearly doesn’t come home I and a few of my friends sent cryptic texts to our long suffering other halves, who rang us back in concern or bemused amusement (had they realised Wednesday night is Offspring night).

I write this post in complete dread at tonight’s episode, which will explore Patrick’s funeral and Nina giving birth without the baby’s father there. ‘For the love of g-bang!’ Offspring fans lament, ‘how could you do this producers???’.

Never before have I experienced a show with such little incentive for me to suspend my disbelief. The Offspring world is sort of a bit close to reality, there’s a dysfunctional family as hilarious as they are tragic, a protagonist with endearing faults that, refreshingly, do not include narcissism and locations I frequent as a Melbournian obsessed with finding the perfect pho. Every character could be your bestie, uni tutor or barista… save for Patrick, god’s gift to woman, tailored to perfection with his effervescent ability to listen, grin and wear a bear skin cape.

Deb Oswald, creator of Offspring, also wrote a famous Australian play called ‘Dags’. I studied a monologue from it as a toothsome young high school student and found it incredibly easy to inhabit a character called ‘Gillian’. Now, this could be because I am the greatest actress of my generation save for Mena Suvari, but I think my ability to do this was down to how relatable Oswald’s characters are.

We are all Nina in some way, we’d like to think we aren’t Billie but most of us are because of our conspicuous desire to marry Eddie Perfect (no matter his hair colour). We’ve all had a boss like Klegg, an incredibly qualified individual completely out of touch with social relations (yet still endearing). We know a guy like Jimmy who describes life as ‘organic’ and is everyone’s favourite man child, we know an ageing partyrocker like Geraldine and even a beautifully awkward Gary McDonald character who is our Phillip Noonan (I once saw Gary McDonald crossing the road and then later that night saw him as Polonius and passed away with excitement).

The show’s charm is in the beautifully lit slice of realness it offers viewers, mostly of the female persuasion, and it’s ability to be funny and sad at the same time like life is.

However, last week it tipped the balance and was just sad. My Mum proclaimed ‘IT’S WORSE THAN WHEN MOLLY DIED ON A COUNTRY PRACTICE’, my friend vowed to boycott the show for his own mental health and my other friend, Mimz, who just got back from 7 weeks in Europe, painfully alleged that the whole experience had been ruined by Patrick’s death.

So tonight, when I’m weeping like a baby I want everyone to know that I am doing this out of respect for Offspring as a construct. Just as I have been carefully positioned to mourn Patrick, so to have I been carefully positioned to mourn him as if he isn’t a fictional character, but a well lit yet imperfect feature of my dream Fitzroy life.

It’s pretty weird, but a couple of million Aussie gals will feel me.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3gA25T5m_Es