"People like to say that drama is real life with the boring bits taken out," Ricky Gervais explains during a BBC interview for The Office DVD special features. "But we left them in. We wanted to have people clock-watching, wasting their lives, waiting to get home."
This, along with some psychologically complex characters and an articulately paced narrative, is what made The Office such an emotionally penetrating experience for audiences. Even if you don't spend your waking hours chained to a desk (or are unemployed), pretty much everyone can relate to smothering your feelings about an obnoxious authority figure with a messiah complex, or being silently infatuated with the acquaintance across the room that (you assume) feels nothing for you, all the while questioning what the hell you're doing with your life and when you're going to make a change.
With so many people falling so deeply in love with Ricky Gervais's (and co-creator Stephen Merchant's) existential world of suffocated dreams and unfulfilled longing, it's no wonder there was so much skepticism surrounding NBC's decision to adopt the British comedy into a prime-time sitcom for American audiences.
In part, their cynicism was justified: Almost everything that made the stateside version of The Office great stemmed from its across-the-pond progenitor. The awkward humor about white guilt, the tense romance between the mildly pretty receptionist and the witty paper salesman, the hopelessly neurotic boss who desperately needs to be loved by everyone -- it was all there before King of the HIll co-creator Greg Daniels stripped away the accents and made the story palatable for an (admit it) less intelligent TV viewing public.
But in running 186 more episodes than the original, the U.S. Office was able to flesh out the original characters in directions that the U.K. Office never had the chance to do. In its original form, the supporting actors were interesting, but for the most part only served as bumpers for the three or four main cast members. It could've never dreamed of inventing pasty-fleshed barfly Meredith, sexually sadistic Jan or darkly schizophrenic con man Creed.
And surely we can all come together and agree that Dwight Schrute is one of the most memorable characters in television history. While the buzzard-like Gareth of the English Office was amusing as a power-hungry loser with a comic-book complex, Dwight's backwoods backstory with its German pragmatism and rural B&B set on a rustic beat farm (Cousin Mose!) seemed to provide an infinite number of richly textured gags.
Yet ultimately the most critical quandary that has to be faced when comparing the two sides of this clerical coin comes down to this: Jim and Pam, or Tim and Dawn? And here I have to admit, the Yanks defeated the Brits once again. If you want to scream until you're blue in the face that future Hobbit Martin Freeman made a better wise-cracking wonderboy than the Hollywood handsome John Krasinski, I won't fight you on that point. But the relentless pang of the heart we endured for three seasons waiting for Jim and Pam to finally transcend the so-clearly-wrong-for-them characters that stood in their way (damn you, Roy and Karen!) was a beautiful tragedy that kept us all biting our knuckles in anticipation.
Though once they found love in season four, The Office suddenly became as funny as a dead puppy.