Bones is the kind of show you leave on in the background while vacuuming. It will live on in syndication forever because housewives and the unemployed need something to distract themselves from the sad state of affairs they call existence. Instead of getting drunk or looking for a job, they can just turn on TNT and phase out until suppertime. And then get drunk.
I made it through season one of Bones and I still have no idea what it’s about. Like Charmed, The Closer, and most TNT fare, Bones is hypnotic in its banality. Even when they’re doing something that should be interesting, like discovering a corpse or chasing down a bad guy, it’s bland. I keep expecting one of them to ask me to switch to Splenda or try H&R Block’s accounting software.
David Boreanaz and Emily Deschanel have all the chemistry of an ant mounting a stapler. And honestly, the show sounds like it was named after someone’s dog. It’s difficult to take anything seriously when all you can think about is whose dog it’s named after. Imagine Mohammed Ali in his prime. Scary, right? Now imagine his name is Spot. Technically, he’s still exactly the same person, but he never beats Joe Frazier if his name is Spot. Never.
And this is why I still don’t know what Bones is about. Self-preservation compels your mind to wander away from Bones and toward anything else. One minute I’m trying to pay attention, the next I’m pondering my coffee cup. Before I know it half an hour has passed and I have no idea what’s going on. And even if I did, I wouldn’t care. Boreanaz and Deschanel defy human compassion. If all I had to do was push a button to save their lives, I would forget to push it and fall asleep.
Bones ran for 12 years, which is nothing less than an indictment of humanity. Somewhere out there is a lonely housewife who’s watched every episode and probably cried during the finale. “Not Bones! Don’t take away my Bones! I know I could never get Brad Pitt, but maybe I could get a generic white guy like David Boreanaz. And I know I’m not as pretty as Zooey Deschanel, but maybe I’m as pretty as her bony sister.” (Spoiler alert: you’re not.)
Bones is a metaphysical contemplation of lowered expectations. Sure it’s a bad show, but it’s probably better than staring at my hand for an hour. Sure I should be out looking for a job, but I just don’t feel like it today. I might as well just sit here and watch Bones.