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season 2, episode 10, “4:00 P.M.”


As viewers, we know this season of The Pitt is going to last for 15 hours, but as far as the staffers at PTMC are concerned, they’re relatively close to the end of their 12-hour shift. And you can tell they’re reaching their workday limit because the vibes at “4:00 P.M.” have turned absolutely rancid. When the victims of a horrific waterslide collapse are holding it together better than the doctors treating them, you know something is wrong. In fact, almost everyone is on their worst, most passive-aggressive behavior this hour, which seems like both an intentional part of The Pitt’s season-long storytelling and also, perhaps, an example of the show’s writers getting a little burnt out themselves.

In other words: “4:00 P.M.” is a strange hour of The Pitt. After last week’s episode was a real masterclass in subtle, evocative character work, this hour is much clunkier with what it’s trying to say and how it’s saying it. Some of it works—mostly notably the fascinating choice to take Robby into full-on villain territory here—but a lot of it feels unbalanced in a way this show avoids at its best. While the waterslide collapse turns out to be less of a mass-casualty event than I was expecting (there are just three collapse-related patients this week), perhaps the real mass-casualty event is the odd character turns we make along the way.  

Still, it’s the waterslide victims who anchor this hour with some of the gnarliest injuries we’ve seen yet this season. The first arrives with the bottom half of her right leg cleanly guillotined off, a fact that feels even more eerie when Ogilvie is casually handed the dismembered limb on the helicopter pad. Thankfully, it actually turns out to be a best-case scenario for such a horrific accident—the cut is clean enough that arrogant ortho-surgeon “Park The Shark” thinks he can reattach the leg. (This is a medical procedure I genuinely didn’t realize was possible with such a major limb loss.) 

The next patient is also “lucky” with his injuries. Though he fell 20 feet through the air when the slide cracked, he walks away with just some blunt chest trauma and a freaky but fixable “degloved” finger. Unfortunately, he has to deal with Santos, Langdon, Al-Hashimi, and Garcia hashing out all their simmering interpersonal drama while working on his injuries. Santos snipes at everything Langdon says. Al-Hashimi and Garcia take his side. And Santos is once again left feeling like she’s all alone in the world—a tough reality that’s probably not as tough as, you know, not knowing if your seven-year-old son is dead or alive.

Indeed, the waterslide dad through-line is a prime example of a story where I can’t quite tell if The Pitt realizes just how poorly the doctors are acting. The idea of trying to hold onto your son only to drop him to his potential death because your finger is being ripped apart is one of the most horrific things I can imagine any parent living through. And yet the doctors barely even seem affected when the dad recounts the experience—even someone like Langdon, who’s had a bunch of fatherhood centric moments this season. (In fact, he almost immediately jumps back into his sassy workplace banter with Garcia.) I understand that there’s nothing they can actively do to help the son and that doctors often need to emotionally compartmentalize in order to do their job. But why introduce such a horrific backstory if it’s not even going to make our protagonists crack at least a little bit? 

On the other side of the spectrum, there’s some notable repetition in what does make our doctors crack this week. I guess you could argue that between Roxie and Baby Jane Doe “motherhood” has been one of the overarching themes of the season. But it’s still a little redundant to have Javadi and Samira both stressing out over their overbearing moms in one episode. They’re storylines that have been threaded throughout the season (and the series, for Javadi), so they don’t exactly come out of nowhere. Yet the execution here is clunky. Why is McKay—a single mom who knows about tough life experiences, complicated family relationships, and demanding doctors—tossing off simplistic advice about how Javadi just needs to tell her mom how she’s feeling and her mom will surely understand? 

In retrospect, it’s also a shame this season didn’t build more naturally to Samira’s panic attack, now that we know that’s where her storyline has been headed. Last season gave her a clear arc about being the slow but attentive patient-focused doctor of the ER. This season, however, has thrown a whole bunch of story fragments at her without really taking the time to delve into any one of them. (Her mom! Dating! Her biological clock! Her fellowship! Her uninsured diabetes patient!) And while, sure, you could argue that panic attacks often stem from a whole bunch of different stressors hitting at once, the show hasn’t effectively built up to that “everything in my life is falling apart at once” feeling it’s going for, mostly because Supriya Ganesh just hasn’t had enough screen time. 

What works as a more effective surprise is the absolutely horrendous way Robby responds to Samira’s panic attack. It’s shocking in the moment because it’s a dramatic escalation from even the simmering tension he and Samira had last season. And yet given the way Robby has been slowly, silently cracking for a season and a half now, it makes sense too. Robby thinks strength comes from shoving down weakness; he’s practically built his identity around his ability to push through a work-related panic attack, like the one he had during the mass-shooting triage. So when he sees someone else not able to live by “his” rule, he responds not with empathy for having walked her path but with frustration that she can’t walk his. 

Given the show’s tendency to hero worship Robby, it’s nice to see the writers actively and unequivocally depict his flaws for once too. There’s no question that Al-Hashimi is right to call out his “tough love” approach. (“This is the ED; it’s not for the faint of heart,” he says. “It’s not for the unempathetic either,” she replies.) And there’s no question that his half-assed apology does nothing to undo the damage he caused to Samira, who’s now the one determined to prove herself by shoving her own feelings down in a very Robby-esque way. It’s also worth noting that the way Robby snaps at Samira is exactly the uncharacteristic way she snaps at random patients in the hallway just before her own panic attack—another in a very, very long list of signs that Robby really isn’t doing okay this season.

Indeed, it’s such an effective moment that it only makes the odd character work elsewhere stand out more. While it’s sweet to see Langdon emphasize Becca’s HIPPA rights over her UTI diagnosis, I’m a little confused by the ultimate “surprise” reveal that Becca has a boyfriend she’s been having sex with. It makes sense from a PSA perspective (the show wants to emphasize that medium-support-needs autistic adults can have romantic and sexual lives), but less so from a character one. The one thing we know about the King sisters is that they talk every day and seemingly share every detail of their lives. Why would Becca be hiding her boyfriend from Mel and why would she suddenly decide to excitedly tell her now?

While it’s certainly possible that next week’s episode will resolve that contradiction in an interesting way, it can be hard to know when to trust that this show is building toward something greater and when it’s just missing the mark. The exciting thing about The Pitt is that it’s always living in the present, but that can also be a hindrance. For instance, without knowing what Santos and Garcia’s casual romance has been like and what Garcia actually knows about Langdon’s departure, it’s hard to tell what to make of the harsh scene where Garcia tells Santos she needs to “put on her big girl panties” and get over his return.   

Garcia claims that Langdon “made a mistake and owned up to it,” which isn’t really what happened. He didn’t own up to anything until Robby went through his locker based on Santos’ suspicions. The idea that Santos has been a pariah for the last 10 months because no one really knows what happened with Langdon is an interesting one, as is Garcia’s counter that Santos might just be disliked because she “doesn’t play well with others.” But with so many storylines to juggle and so many bad attitudes going around, it’s unclear what will actually float to the top in the final five episodes of the season. It’s certainly possible that “4:00 P.M.” will make more emotional sense once it’s in conversation with the rest of the season. But, for now, it’s a bit of an odd, unresolved puzzle piece. 

Stray observations

  • • While all of the Roxie-related scenes this week are lovely, I almost wish the show had saved them for another hour where it felt like she was in more of the A-story. I’m also surprised her death doula hasn’t been playing a more active role in her tale, although it’s nice to see McKay step up with some words of advice for Roxie’s older son. 
  • • Becca’s deposition and the arrival of Robby’s friend Duke are two storylines that got a lot of buildup but not much in the way of satisfying payoff—at least not yet. 
  • • Another moment that felt off to me: Dana trying to talk Langdon out of paying for Louie’s funeral and/or setting up a GoFundMe to pay for it. I’d understand if he was obsessing over a patient he barely knew, but Louie existed in enough of a friend space that it seems like a sweet, healthy gesture rather than an unhealthy coping mechanism.  
  • • You rarely see people smoking in contemporary-set TV shows anymore, so it’s a nice bit of realism to have nicotine cravings be so central to Monica’s storyline.  
  • • They’ve really been emphasizing the security door between the waiting room and the ER this season. I wonder if we’re going to get someone trying to break in later. I’m also curious what the show is building to with Ogilvie and his English-teacher patient.
  • • “Only an idiot would ride all night after working a 12-hour day.” 
  • Gnarliest moment of the week: This is maybe the most competitive this category has been all season! The amputated leg, degloved finger, and Duke’s throat scope are all strong contenders. But the one procedure I actually had to watch from behind my hands is Al-Hashim’s “slash trach” on the eight-year-old kid. That fact that she’s clearly nervous while she does it really ups the tension.

Caroline Siede is a contributor to The A.V. Club.     




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