Please don’t destroy the world on Saturday; I need to live long enough to find out who’s the boss of the Scranton branch of Dunder Mifflin. I know this is akin to taking your name in vain, but I am worshipping The Office again, especially without the god of goofy, Michael Scott, the buffoonish altered ego of the brilliant Steve Carell. Blasphemy, I know.
But finally, I can watch without cringing, wincing, sledgehammering my skull in disbelief or popping handfuls of Ativan as if they were Skittles to relieve the anxiety I felt whenever Michael behaved boorishly, which, of course, was always almost always. The absence of the grudgingly likable but painfully dim Michael recasts the spotlight on the resigned but somewhat rejuvenated staff, particularly Jim Halpert, who, at least in the last two episodes of the season, acted like so much more than a button-down smirk.