"Still" was, obviously, a bottle episode, employing my least favorite of all bottle techniques--the Clip Show. I think there's been only one example of the form that I've seen actually work, and that was when it was so nicely subverted by Community (though, to be honest, as much as it claimed to be a bottle episode, "Paradigms of Human Memory" didn't really seem to be one; it more seemed to just exist as a parody of the form). Clip Shows are annoying for obvious reasons, especially for someone like me, for whom characterization is sacred and rerunning is a way of life (and I'm by far not the most extreme example of it; I've known people to have seen an episode nine times within twenty-four hours of its airing, though I don't even know how that was done). There's huge appeal in reviewing past moments, but I bought the episodes on physical and/or digital release for exactly that purpose, and a Clip Show episode fails to capture the joy I find in reexperience while also becoming an episode that is itself hard to rewatch. I look to new episodes for fresh content, to reruns for fulfillment, and to fan communities and YouTube for compilations and clip shows, and it's always disappointing to get one of these from the show itself -- which often, due to the constraints of it being a broadcasted episode, leave out both the best and the most subtle examples anyway. Clip Shows also tend to cheapen the moments they excise from their context, and it was especially disappointing to see some of my favorite dramatic moments, such as those from "Countdown," "Knockdown," and "Knockout"/"Rise," being brought up in that fashion -- rapid fire, with the addition of the cheesy voice-over from Montgomery, which was a speech that in its context I truly loved.
In that vein, just from the standpoint of characterization, Clip Shows create a bizarre sort of fish eye perspective of the character's life. How is it that the moments these characters think of all have to do with something the audience has seen before? Why is it that when Beckett looks back on her life, as she tries to cope with the fact that she's going to die, she sees so many moments associated with her mother's murder, but not the actual crime scene of the murder which we know through backstory she's seen? Why doesn't she think of any part of her life prior to Castle's canon, such as her time in Russia, time with her father immediately following her mother's death, time in the police academy with Royce, or time between canon, such as her recovery in the hospital and the conversations she must have had with her father following her shooting? Limitations of the form tell us exactly why -- because these scenes don't exist to be drawn upon, and since it's a bottle episode, they're not going to go out and film them -- but this is precisely the problem. It's painfully obvious what the episode is (a bottle episode), and it has the effect of immediately flattening the characters. The act of reminiscing feels flat because it is flat, because the memory that these characters have is shortened immediately to incorporate only the happenings of the last few years, and it excludes all of those quiet moments that never would have been in an episode (something like Beckett and Castle taking coffee out on the balcony as the sun rises over the city, or them sitting opposite each other at the precinct, Castle typing into his laptop and Beckett filling out paperwork with a half-empty cup of coffee at her elbow, and after two hours one of them wonders aloud about the possibility of stopping to get a sandwich). Suspension of belief in a Clip Show becomes infinitely more difficult to retain, and it often feels to me like it's even uprooting some of my investment by exposing how shallow characterization can be.
But in the interest of not being completely negative, I'll say that I latched onto the few moments of legitimate dramatic tension in "Still" with a crack addict's desperation, and I savored them as such, because the reality is that characters having to come to terms with Impending Mortal Peril is easily my second or third favorite plot device. Further, I genuinely love the premise of the episode -- that we start with an idyllic morning, one in which the world for Beckett seems both bright and peaceful, and by noon she's suddenly faced with the fact that probably won't live to see the sunset. I love that Castle, as her Loyal, Loving Compatriot, refuses to leave her side or let her cede, mentally or physically. I love the implication that Esposito would put the Big Hurt on their bomber without any hesitation if it meant saving her. If the episode had been done with the same plot, but none of the Clip Show, "Still" easily could have made my top five list, no question. I would've eaten it up and waxed praise like a raving lunatic, complete with exclamation marks and scene by scene analysis and shoving a rerun into my morning. I might not have slept last night. That is the kind of love I'm prepared to have, so being denied that level of joy by something as lazy as a Clip Show just sours my view, especially when a plot that has the potential for emotional intensity instead becomes more of a joke fest.
This leads me back to what I'm fairly certain I brought up earlier in my discussion of "Squab," which is my feeling that Castle tends to skip over opportunities for depth and real character-character/viewer-character connections in favor of shallow humor. Again, I love Castle when it's funny, and it can be exceptionally good at it. I honestly think Castle has done some of the strongest parodies or "inspired by" plots I've seen anywhere, and I would take "Scared to Death" over Scary Movie any day of any week. But I'd again like to point out that Beckett/Stana Katic is capable of delivering an extreme amount of intensity, from regal, somber grace to burns-like-fire, homicidal rage, and it's disappointing to so rarely see that side of her come out to play. This is part of the reason I so love Joss Whedon's approach to television, because his characters constantly exist in that dynamic between funny and not even close to funny, between rage, neutrality, and an almost disquieting level of misery. Buffy Summers is a character I could never find enough positive words to lavish with, and a big part of that has to do with how dynamic her role is allowed to be. She can be hilarious one scene and depressing the next; she can go from a character that is extremely sympathetic, brave, and giving, to a character who is dislikeable, weak, and selfish, without ever going OOC. Jordan Cavanaugh is, to a lesser extent, like this, which is why (or part of the reason why) between these two characters I've never found an equal.
I've often complained that Beckett is simply too perfect to be wholly sympathetic. She's a paragon of goodness. There is no better way to illustrate this than by looking at her actions in episodes like "After the Storm" and "Recoil," in which she, for no explicable reason, allows the man who ruined her life to live. I cannot even begin to describe how I lamented when Beckett saved Bracken from the bomb in "Recoil," because there, truly, was the opportunity for Beckett to be dark and interesting and different. I don't know that there's ever been a moment where I was more disappointed in a character or a plot-point than then. I can't even think of the mytharc anymore without thinking of that scene. I can only hope that the finale sees Bracken's death (and that "Still" was made a bottleneck in part to help fund the finale), and that Beckett has some part in it. That would make me indescribably happy.
But, at any rate, "Still" sharply brings into focus how frustratingly, unrealistically perfect and unflappable Beckett is, as she stands stoically on a bomb arguing trivialities with Castle. On the one level, I can reason that she's able to do this because she's choosing to box away her situation by throwing herself into the comfort of shared memories and old, stupid jokes, but on another I feel that that is completely unrealistic and I wish that she was able to actually react. There was no claustrophobia, no fear, no indignant rage over her rapidly impending death, no lamentation, hardly any tears. She waits to meet her death with a grim stoicism that borders on apathy. Here again, for the second week in a row, Beckett was given the opportunity to flash back on past events in more than just a surface-y, Clip Show level -- to rage that she survived a bullet wound and a tiger and a bombing once already, that despite her decision to remain a moral being and keep the person she hates most alive, she is still going to die here in a freak accident, and she has to wait, tortuously, for that grisly death to come, while her partner feeds her false promises and the bomb unit under her feet gives up.
Just thinking about it, there are a hundred things I would have done differently with this episode. It would have been a lot more interesting to have Beckett actually break down, to have to deal with being unable to move as terror builds pressure in her blood. That coupled with rage toward herself for the decisions she's made and to the universe for stripping her of her life when she'd only so recently gotten it back would cause her to eventually lash out at Castle, to finally blow loose the misgivings she's had over their relationship in a petty attack aimed toward reducing her stress. Poor Castle would be doing his best to remain positive in the face of increasingly grim circumstances, trying to balance his own terror and sharp, internal keening against her needs, but would find himself at a loss at her sudden outburst, at once gaining piercing insight into his behavior and her perception of their relationship. Beckett would see immediately that she's hurt him, and the rage would drain away for just a moment as she rapidly, if somewhat shortly, apologizes and retracts back within herself. After she's saved, late in the night, Castle would tentatively return to her concerns, appreciating deeply how close he'd been to losing her and filled with the desire to make things right before time slips away from them, before either of them have a chance to step on another bomb.
To heighten emotional tension, just at the climax, when there's ten minutes to go, I'd have Castle bodily removed from her, on the insistence of the bomb squad leader. Castle would refuse, for the first time showing anger himself, because he finds himself suddenly, hotly enraged by the fact that Beckett's going to die and there's nothing he can do about it, and he can't even be there with her till the end. He too would be thinking about almost losing her to some gunman two years ago, thinking about the endless, stupid risks, about the fact that he's only just gotten to connect to her with the intimacy he's always wanted from her. He can't bring himself to walk out the door and say goodbye. He can't cope with the fact that this morning he was making hearts in her coffee, coffee she was never able to drink, and by tomorrow he's going to have to try to figure out what to do with the clothes she'd tossed casually over his dresser the night before and with what he's going to tell her father and what's going to happen when he goes into the precinct and sees her desk precisely as she left it. Then Beckett would look him straight in the eyes, suddenly strong and brave and stoic, and she would beg him quietly to leave. And Castle would have to stand there looking at her, wanting more than anything to reach across the spray-painted line and kiss her and carry her home, but be unable to so much as touch her, and then he would have to leave her. And then I would have done a big, wide shot of him walking off frame and out of the room, leaving Beckett in this vacuous, silent space. And then, finally, she would have broken completely, shaking and sobbing even as she stands perfectly still, lost in enough negative space to make Sherlock jealous. Fade to black.
Castle would call the precinct, tell them what's going on, demand they give him something he can use to break the code. On having his wild epiphany, he would break away from the bomb squad leader, who would try and fail to restrain him, and he would run full melt back into the apartment and back to Beckett. Her grief would immediately be replaced with rage upon his re-entrance, for his failure to respect her wish that he not die with her, for continuing to try to seduce her with false promises for survival, when by her count she's less than two minutes left, terrified afresh now not just because she's going to die, but because she knows that Castle will not have time to clear the building even if he were to listen to her and run. She hates him for forcing her to shoulder his death in addition to her own, and she rages against him in a bitter, grief-stricken torrent. Castle, angry at her now both for having accepted her death and for being angry at him, lashes right back at her, but shortly, and tells her that he came back because he's willing to gamble his life on how sincerely he believes himself to be right about the code word, and that she does not, in fact, bear the weight of the world upon her shoulders. He tells her that she isn't going to die. Maybe he even makes a meta joke about them having Plot Armor, because they're the main characters in his book. Beckett, having quieted in the face of his passion, love, and conviction, points out that he killed off Derrick Storm. Castle, having no adequate response, simply holds up the bomb remote and punches in the code. When it disarms, Beckett is still frozen for a moment, waiting for the blast, but when it doesn't come she abruptly falls sobbing into Castle, raging at him for being an idiot before he cuts her off by kissing her. She meets him with aggression born out of the terrified, electric energy still coursing through her soul and her blood, and they spend a long time like that, lip-locked and appreciating their ability to touch each other again. They break apart once the bomb squad leader re-enters, and then they both shakily return to their feet and walk out of the apartment.
Meanwhile, Esposito and Ryan, who had dashed to their car the second Castle had gotten off the line with them, are racing to the apartment, both filled with the unspoken dread that Castle had indeed gone back into that building, and that both him and Beckett are now dead. When they arrive to find that the building is not destroyed, for a moment they think that maybe they don't have the time right, that they got there before the bomb was set to blow, and that they're both about to witness something awful, which Ryan verbalizes to a small extent by starting to say something like "Javie, I..." and being unable to finish the thought. Just as he says this, in the background we see Beckett and Castle exiting the building, and then the two cops run to meet them, relieved at first, then, within a beat, overjoyed. Cue happy reunion and cop humor.
Again, that night, Beckett and Castle would finally have a moment, finally start a frank, adult conversation. Whether or not it'd be something included in the episode, I'm not sure. Probably I would just have them start it, and then do the typical close-up reaction thing, and then I would imply that they do indeed have it, fade to black, and next episode they seem healed.
And that is how I would have written "Still," more or less. I also would have had no music, at all. It would've been one of those episodes marked by its silence, offering, hopefully, a gravity and nakedness similar to that in "The Body" (Buffy). Just thinking about "Still" being produced in this fashion, instead of the Clip Show route they chose to go, makes me sadder about the episode than before.
Please, for the love of god, let Bracken die in the finale.
