End of the Thought Process

The post-Super Bowl episode of House (“Frozen”) garnered record-setting ratings for the series. Of course, many of those new viewers will stick around and become fans. Jumping into a series mid-fourth year isn't always easy. So, in honor of all of you House “newbies,” and because I'll use any excuse to drag out my (very nearly worn out) House DVD collection, I re-watched all 80 or so episodes and put together what I call the "Welcome to the End of the Thought Process” (Unofficial) House Episode Guide.

I don't watch House for the humor; or for House's outrageous behavior and rude comments. I watch House for House (the character, that is) — for the peeling away of his layers — the character study that the series and the always-brilliant Mr. Laurie do so well. My episode grades primarily reflect that. But I’ve also factored in things like atmosphere, humor, the patient mystery, use of the secondary characters, and (of course) music.

On the other hand, such frivolous things as the blueness of Hugh Laurie’s magnificent eyes (which seem to fluctuate from just plain blue to the varying shades of the Caribbean Sea, depending on the light) have not been factored in at all. (Yeah, I know.) Neither have the improbability of the medicine (I’m not a doctor, so I really don’t care), the inaccuracy of legal issues (I’m not a lawyer either), or seeming character inconsistencies (because over the course of the series, despite the different writing styles of the series scribes, the characters have been overall consistent).

But this is a subjective guide, and House is truly a series that can be viewed, interpreted, and enjoyed from a variety of angles. So, feel free to debate and argue with me as you wish in the comment area below. In fact, I’d love it.

Episodes marked with an asterisk (*) are those I consider to be “must-see” episodes. Links will lead you to lengthier reviews/commentaries I’ve written for Blogcritics or on posted on my LiveJournal. The guide will posted in several parts over the next few weeks. Plenty of time to go back, re-watch for yourself.

* Pilot (A) - “You can’t always get what you want” goes the Rolling Stones classic. “But you just might find, you get what you need.” All the elements that make this series great were there right from the beginning: Wilson manipulating House to take on a patient (and lying to do it!); House making a soul-to-soul connection with a patient; the sparkling bite that defines House and Cuddy’s relationship. The humor was perfect and it served as a balance to the story’s intensity. House’s motto, "everybody lies," is introduced in the series pilot, as is the idea that House’s real specialty is hunting medicine’s zebras, a medical metaphor for unusual medical cases that require out-of-the-box thinking (House’s gift.)

"Paternity" (B) - Okay episode really, really boosted by the final and very introspective scene of House standing alone on an empty lacrosse field clearly thinking of days gone by when he was healthy and whole. The humorous side story, which involves wagering on the patient’s paternity, is wonderfully rendered and connects well to the main story. Cuddy and House share a delicious scene (played brilliantly by Hugh Laurie and Lisa Edelstein) in which Cuddy forces House to pay for the expensive DNA test he ran on the kid for the bet (but which proves essential to the correct diagnosis).

"Occam's Razor" (B) - Occam’s razor states that the simplest explanation is usually the correct one. In House’s world, that usually means somebody lied – or screwed up. Mislabeled colchicine (a gout medication, mistaken for a cough remedy) places a young man at death’s door as the team scrambles to make sense of the myriad symptoms. The best scene involves House introducing himself to a roomful of clinic patients: “My name is Dr. Gregory House. I am a BORED (board) certified doctor in infectious diseases and nephrology….”

* "Maternity" (A) — The team is at a loss to figure out what caused (at least) six newborns to become critically ill in the hospital maternity unit. As the situation becomes dire, House doggedly insists they pursue and run a therapeutic trial on the sick infants, potentially sacrificing the life of one baby in order to save many more lives. House’s almost Spock-like cold rationality is more than offset as he agonizes over the choice Cuddy has left in his lap. “Do what you think is right,” she finally concedes. When one infant succumbs, House knows they must do an autopsy but sends everyone home for the night. Alone, in the dark of the autopsy room, the exhausted House stays behind to perform the grim task. It is a brief, but incredibly moving, scene.

"Damned If You Do" (A) - The season one Christmas episode. A nun comes to the clinic with a supposedly simple rash. When she has a heart attack in the exam room, Cuddy accuses House of accidentally overdosing her with the antihistamine epinephrine. Of course the answer is not so simple, but it’s fun watching House begin to doubt himself about it, while trying to deny it. House and Wilson banter about circles of Hell and Christmas, winding up having Chinese food together at House’s apartment. This episode also featured the first time we see House playing his beautiful baby grand piano as he renders a starkly elegant “Silent Night,” sitting alone in his flat drinking a whiskey as Christmas goes on in the world beyond his solitary gloom.

* "Socratic Method" (A) - The Socratic method is “the best way of teaching anybody about anything,” according to House. However, Socrates was also considered schizophrenic, as is this week’s patient, Lucy. But House isn’t buying it as he gets to know Lucy and her son, making a strong connection with them both. He reads Lucy poetry, listens to and interprets her ravings, respects her and her position, all much to the dismay and confusion of his colleagues. His willingness to ignore the conventional wisdom about Lucy allows him to discover that her mental illness is but a symptom of Wilson’s disease, and quite treatable. The episode gets extra points for the gorgeous Baroque piano piece that Hugh Laurie plays late at night while pondering the case. And more extra points for the hysterically fake upper-crust British accent House uses to disguise his voice when phoning one of Lucy’s prior physicians in the middle of the night. A super, super episode.

"Fidelity" (C-) - How can you have African sleeping sickness if you’ve never been to Africa? Of course House believes that the answer to everything eventually leads back to someone’s lie. As it does here. In this case, the sleeping sickness patient has been having an affair with her husband’s best friend — who has been to Africa. This episode first establishes that House is multi-lingual, demonstrating his knowledge of Portuguese. A lovely scene near the end between House and a teary Cameron is touching, and verges on giving House away as someone who’s not as much of a jerk as he’d have us believe.

"Poison" (C+) - Oh, Georgia! One of the absolutely best clinic patients in the entire series to date. The elderly lady (with the annoying son) who has a syphilis-induced crush on House appears here and there in the episode to add a touch of sweetness to this otherwise interesting but “just okay” episode. For the first time, I found House is very unsympathetic, and more arrogant in this episode than I like him. The writers also attempt to draw a parallel (as they still insist upon) between Foreman and House (something I’ve never understood), even having them wear the same shoes.

"DNR" (A+) - Is it ever permissible to violate a “do not resuscitate” order? That is the ethical dilemma of this brilliant episode. A world-class jazz trumpeter, John Henry Giles, of whom House is a fan, comes into the hospital with diagnosed ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease). Giles' primary physician is Foreman's old mentor, a California doc named Marty! This episode synthesizes all the elements that make House unique and wonderful: the series’ unique take on medical ethics; conflict between House and his colleagues; a glimpse at what really makes House tick.

There is an iconic scene that defines House as different than other doctors. As Foreman ponders whether to resign his fellowship to accept Dr. Marty's job offer, House offers a contrast between their differing medical philosophies. “He sleeps better at night,” House argues. “He shouldn’t.” Dr. Marty believes that you do your job and accept the inevitable with a shrug of the shoulders. House struggles with himself and with everyone else to obtain a better patient outcome, whatever it takes. And for or all of Gregory House’s outward arrogance, House has a sort of humility that Foreman, Dr. Marty, not even Cuddy and Wilson really understand. To me, this scene completely sums up the character. The episode also ends on a poignant note as Giles, now healed due to House's persistence, presents him with a priceless gift — his beloved trumpet. The depth to which House is touched is expressed wordlessly and eloquently through Hugh Laurie’s expressive eyes. One of my absolutely favorite episodes.

"Histories" (B+) - A fine episode in which the series poses the ethical question: does a homeless person deserve respectful care in the hospital when ill, no matter what the cause? House’s answer is yes; and in so doing reveals an underlying (and deeply-buried) humanity pointing out the glaring difference between Foreman’s angry arrogance and House’s affected arrogance. Foreman would have thrown this week’s patient disdainfully to the curb and out of her snugly warm hospital bed, insisting that she is simply "faking it" to get a night out of the cold. But Foreman gets a lesson in the real humility that House lectured him about in “DNR.” As it turns out, she has rabies, eventually dying from the disease. A chastened Foreman sits with her in her final hours, granting her a modicum of peace and dignity.

* "Detox" (A+) - A tour-de-force acting performance by Hugh Laurie pits House’s stubbornness against his need for Vicodin after betting Cuddy that he is not addicted to pain meds. He agrees to give up Vicodin for a week in exchange for one month off clinic duty. During the increasingly difficult and painful struggle, House tries to diagnose a teenage boy. The team, growing more wary of House’s judgment as he suffers the effects of narcotics withdrawal, insists that the boy has lupus. House, just as insistent, is certain that it is something else. As they boy's condition worsens, even Foreman wants to see House back on Vicodin, offering him a bottle of the drug. Spilling the pills onto his desk, you can see the interior struggle raging within House's eyes.

With the boy dying, and about to undergo a possibly (in House’s judgment) unnecessary liver transplant, everyone continues to dismiss House’s insistence that the boy’s recently deceased cat holds the answer. As preparations for a transplant are made, House, sick and hands trembling, autopsies the cat, trying to hang on long enough to find the answer before the surgery. Of course House is correct and the boy is saved from a life on immuno-suppressant drugs. One of the series’ absolute best episodes. Riveting. House’s admission to Wilson (who we learn manipulated the bet in the first place) that he is addicted to the pain killers, but won’t give them up because “they let me do my job; they take away my pain,” is a breathtaking and heartbreaking way to conclude the first half of season one!

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the most powerful of them all? This excellent character exploration of Gregory House, MD (played by the always-compelling Hugh Laurie) was served up as frothy as the peppermint mocha latte that I’m sipping while I write this episode commentary. “Mirror, Mirror,” House, MD episode 4x05, treats us to glimpses of the fellow candidates, the three graduates of House’s diagnostic fellowship as well as Wilson and Cuddy.

The patient of the week has a condition called Giovannini’s Mirror Syndrome. The relevant manifestation of this condition is that the sufferer, having no memory or sense of himself, mimics those around him. Wilson suggests, based on his own reading into mirror syndrome, that the mirror patient mimics the dominant personality in the room. All of this, and the ultimate diagnosis of the cause of the mirror syndrome, is less interesting than the underlying narrative in this clever, fast-moving, and very densely packed episode written by House, MD veteran David Foster. Foster has given us such wonderfully revealing episodes as “All In” in season two, another deep and dense episode gift-wrapped in game-playing and fun.

As the doctors in House’s sphere have their encounters with “mirror man,” they learn a few truths about themselves, which are (of course) shared with us. Neat way for the viewers to obtain background on the remaining six candidates without a lot of unnecessary exposition. And we also learn that all of them are insecure enough (understandably so) to be affected by the patient’s mimicry of their traits.

Amber, aka “Cutthroat Bitch” knows that she is unlikeable. But knowing that, she has a need to always be right. If she’s always right, it doesn’t matter that everyone dislikes her. Hmmm. That assessment sounds awfully familiar to me. It sounds quite a bit like the good doc, himself. It is House who feels that being “right” is his ticket into society. Being “right” trumps being a “freak” or an outcast (as House sees himself). That reveal echoes back to last season’s “Son of Coma Guy,” in which House so eloquently expressed this integral part of his psyche in his Buraku story.

Taub is “outed” as someone who likes assertive/aggressive women. The patient perceives from the way Taub says Amber’s name - or that he even says her name at all - that Taub has a thing for the aggressive Amber. Who else has a soft spot for assertive (even aggressive) women? House, of course. The two women in his life (not counting his mother, the “human lie detector,” as he described her in the season two episode “Daddy’s Boy”) have been Stacy, the constitutional lawyer. And Lisa Cuddy. Both women are very strong females: smart, assertive, professional. Both women have a hold on House’s emotions, although he would deny it (to infinity) and he returns that with long and enduring ties to both women.

From his encounter with Mirror Man, we learn that Kutner likes “new things” whether those are gadgets, or life experiences. He lives a bit on the edge (he certainly is the biggest risk-taker in the group); he likes what “is cool.” Once again, this revelation about Kutner reflects back onto House. House, this edgiest of characters is, likewise, a risk taker, likes “cool” things and revels in new experiences no matter how risky.

Brennan is our tropical diseases specialist. He is likely, like his boss, a specialist in infectious diseases and we learn from his visit to the oracle of the Mirror Man that he is fascinated with rare diseases, which we learn as he smiles like a kid with a new chemistry set at the black sludge drawn up from the patient. Brennan ascribes the sludge to some rare fungus, reading into the sample what he wants to see — something “interesting” instead of the rather common (for this show) explanation that it is simply sludgy blood. The patient also suggests that Brennan ignores problems rather than dealing with them in the hope that they will simply vanish or lose their importance. It was only a year ago that House, too, tried to will away the problem that was Detective Michael Tritter. (And we all know what happened with that. And if you don’t, get hold of the season two DVD set and catch up!) House has a history of sweeping problem under the rug; refusing to deal with them head on and hoping they’ll go away. The Vogler arc of season one and the season two story arc with Stacy are two more examples of this particular character trait present in House.

“Number 13,” the enigmatic brunette on the team avoids contact with the patient. She has gone to some lengths to keep her background a secret. She fears revelation (for whatever reason) and therefore volunteers to go with Cole (who is the only one who does not have personal contact with the patient) rather than spend time (and be thus revealed) with the patient. Forcing the issue, 13 finally attends the patient and all we learn about her is that she is afraid. Of something. Whether that something is revelation; of discovery, or of something else, we do not know. She mentions that the patient is not “afraid of being loved.” 13 is clearly running away from something or someone. Is it a husband? Is she the Runaway Bride? Is she, like House, an abuse victim? Okay, so now I’m curious. So what does her encounter with the patient tell us about House? House clearly has fears. He constantly hides from them, deflecting them, pushing them into corners of his psyche where he can deny them. House fears losing more control over his life (he’s lost so much control of it already); he fears losing his edge; he fears pain. I think also fears seeing himself too clearly in the stark truth of the mirror — for House judges no one more harshly than he judges himself.

We also have the opportunity to see the patient reflect on House’s relationship with both Lisa Cuddy, the dean of medicine (and House’s boss) and Dr. James Wilson, House’s best friend. According to our magic mirror, the House-Wilson relationship is dominated by the soft-spoken and manipulative Wilson. Wilson, who, sometimes cruelly and often effortlessly, manipulates the genius House really does have the upper hand. Although Wilson is often wrong about House and commits injustices against him, he has tangible power over his friend. That power is best used with a soft stick rather than a club; House listens more to reasoned arguments than to the condescending and self-righteous lectures to which Wilson often subjects his best friend. House badly needs a friend, if only to keep him from self-destructing. And House loves Wilson, despite the betrayals and manipulations, because, I believe he knows that the love is mutual. (And by love, I mean brotherly love — platonic and caring.)

House’s power struggle with Cuddy cannot be resolved by watching the two of them visit our patient. Neither emerged as the winner (or loser). They have power over each other, which they wield with lusty relish. And long may it reign.

I haven’t touched on the three classic version fellows, now graduated to attending status and in other departments (except Foreman). This episode completely re-defined House’s relationships with both Foreman and Chase, and much, much for the better. I like it. Chase’s office pool, in cahoots with House, suggests a confederation by two creative and outside the box thinkers, who fooled everyone. Apparently Chase bears no ill will towards House for firing him (as House did not hold a grudge against Chase in season one, when Chase protected his job by betraying House to Vogler).

As for Foreman, I will be the first to admit that I really dislike his character. He is self-righteous, smug, arrogant and doesn’t understand that House’s brilliance and outside the box thinking is tempered by years of experience, an encyclopedic knowledge, and a real, and incredibly rare genius for observation and deduction. But I also think that Foreman has finally come to realize that he still has something to learn from House, and that only by working with the master can Foreman even aspire to the sort of greatness that House has acquired — a greatness that overcomes whatever baggage House brings with him and makes him the diagnostic oracle who can get away with all that he does.

For all of the character reveals, my absolutely favorite scene in the episode was the one-on-one encounter between House and the patient. I always love these moments. Usually they come late at night in a darkened patient room, filled with quiet truths about both the patient and about House, with no one to observe. This patient encounter, a mirror image of all those other times, happened as the whole team watched on. Instead of revealing anything of himself, House merely reflected back his own image of the patient: a quiet, unassuming, soft-spoken man. And in using his skill as an acute observer, got the patient to recognize himself, reveal himself, and in so doing, was cured.

The subtle touches in that scene were gorgeously realized by Hugh Laurie’s understated acting. The over-the-top House, who up until that moment had been engaged in multiple power struggles, deftly disappeared into the simple and dismayed farm implement salesman. But that was House acting, not Hugh Laurie acting. (Never mind that House is almost as good an actor as Mr. Laurie.) Point taken.

The real subtlety of that scene was revealed by quiet acting choices that had House (mirroring the patient) trying to minimize the limp while with the patient, only to be in such clear difficulty once he left the room — suggesting the degree to which House was “acting,” and the almost surreptitious way in which House tended to the patient’s IV without breaking the illusion (which would have destroyed the patient’s reflection of it — thereby destroying what House was trying to accomplish.)

Mirror, mirror. So many, many mirrors reflecting on so many images: mirror syndrome, a patient who mirrors the fellows; fellows who mirror their boss; a mirror finally reflecting back towards the truth about the patient; House seeing a reflection of himself in Foreman’s plight — unemployable because potential employers only saw House’s reflection in Foreman.

Foreman happy? House smiling and dancing? Chase and House in confederation with each other? Mirrors within mirrors. Complex, dense, intelligent, and fast paced. Light and deep. Fun and intense. This is one episode that must be watched more than once to really appreciate. Go for it, right through the looking glass.

The thing is, House’s appeal is a great deal more than his acerbic wit; his cutting (and sometimes cruel) remarks; his occasionally bizarre behavior (i.e. sticking a metal object into a wall outlet in order to prove a point about the afterlife). Some people ascribe House’s main appeal to his sense of humor. Yes, House can be funny. He cracks jokes, deflecting attempts at serious engagement with a witty remark or quip. Series creator David Shore has said that people like House because he gets away with saying things that social convention prohibits. But that sort of appeal would never be enough to engage me in the way Dr. Gregory House has.

So, back to this “Romantic Hero” stuff. I've been an avid reader of The Victorian Novel since I was in high school (and trust me, that was a LONG time ago.) My favorite of that genre will always be Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre. The male protagonist (Jane is the heroine of the novel) Edward Rochester is the quintessential Romantic Hero of Victorian literature. He has a dark past, including a secret marriage to a madwoman whom he keeps locked in the estate attic.

Manipulated into this tragic marriage by his father and father-in-law when he was a sensitive and idealistic young man, Rochester finds solace through self-indulgence and debauchery. Until he meets her — Jane Eyre. And it is through Jane that Rochester seeks redemption of his weary and “soul-withered” self. Offering marriage when he is not free to do so, we still have sympathy for Rochester’s plight and long for him and Jane to ultimately be (re)united. And teenage girls and women alike are captivated generation after generation by this classic Victorian novel (and the brooding Rochester) and others like it. It’s not that the heroes are “bad boys.” It is that the heroes are wounded; in need of healing — doing “good” despite themselves and captivating us in the process.

Like Bronte’s Rochester, Gregory House is a Romantic Hero. The Romantic Hero is a loner. Damaged and wary of people; cynical and melancholy. He is outside the circle — an outcast; introspective and flawed. He is often alienated or isolated and has his own (often quite strong) sense of morality and ethics that is outside the conventional. He is a hero whose heroism is not involved in upholding the social order, but operating outside of it and sometimes in contradiction to it.

In three seasons of House, we have seen Dr. Gregory House at his best and at his worst. It is easy to see his flaws; to see his “badness.” It is especially easy to see because, as written, Gregory House wants us to see those things: his flaws, his anger, bitterness, misanthropy, his outrageousness. But like the proverbial onion, all one has to do is peel away one layer, and another appears. It is to catch a glimpse of one of those reveals that is the most appealing part of the character. (Leaving aside, for the moment, the beautiful and expressive eyes his portrayer, Hugh Laurie.)

We’ve seen from the first very first episode what House is like when he’s not being observed by or interacting with colleagues. With his colleagues, House is guarded in the extreme, callous and brusque; cold. When his staff uncovered a photograph taken of House in an unguarded moment in season three’s “Fetal Position,” they are bewildered. “It almost looks like… he’s caring,” says a perplexed Dr. Allison Cameron. The photograph had been taken by a patient (who was a photographer) while House was attending to her.

House is most unguarded, of course, when he is alone. And it is in those moments we catch a glimpse of who House might be if he was not emotionally or physically “damaged.” House is a man of artistic sensitivity. His apartment is a virtual museum of antique furniture, collectibles, and artwork. His television set is old and small, but he owns an audiophile’s stereo system; a grand piano; multiple musical instruments; and a library of books that eclipses even mine (and I have about 2,000 volumes). That tells you more about House than the fact that he’s into porn or has a thing for General Hospital and Monster Trucks.

The other thing we learn about House when he’s alone is that he’s probably in a great deal more pain than he lets anyone else see. We’ve seen him twice in the morning when he gets up, both times during the second season. Both times have been the “soul-sucking” mornings that House described to Detective Tritter in the season three episode “Words and Deeds.” House barely manages to get out of bed and stand on his own two feet, yet by the time he’s at work, he limps along at a pace that could win a foot race with someone who’s able bodied. (I’d never be able to catch up with those long, cane-enhanced strides.) “Patient’s don’t want a sick doctor,” House tells Wilson in the pilot episode, explaining why the doctor refuses to wear a white lab coat. House never wants to appear too infirm; he doesn’t want to be pitied or be defined by his disability. When he’s alone, it is clear that House moves with much more difficulty than he would ever show the world. These are the tidbits that show us, the viewers, that although he may have a problem with addiction, there is no doubt that House is hurting. It makes us sympathetic to his no-win plight, and take his side when his friends (particularly Wilson and Cuddy) try to undermine his efforts to be pain-free.

While these peeks behind the scenes certainly arouse our (or at least my) sympathy and make him appear stoic in the face of great physical pain, it is in his interactions with patients that we take note of the more heroic qualities of Dr. House. “Interactions with patients? What is she talking about?” you may rightly ask. “His interactions with patients are despicable!”

True, House can be brusque, blunt, and downright nasty to those clinic patients he is forced to treat. But then there is that moment in nearly every episode when we see House interact with a sick patient — one who has appealed to him as the medical court of last resort. It is then that we see House for who he really is. And it is from this vantage that it becomes clear why we care so much about him. It is then we see the doctor who is willing to sacrifice his medical career, his personal safety — share his darkest secrets — all in the service of saving a life.

For all of his brashness, boldness, sarcasm, witty retorts and funny lines, without this part of his persona being shared with us, House would simply be a funny jerk; a class clown. Let him be that to colleagues, clinic patients, and his staff. For him to be compelling enough for us to tune in week upon week, root for him and cry for him, we need to experience the “real” House.

On Foreman’s last day in the season three finale, Wilson told House that he (Foreman) doesn’t want to become “who he thinks you are.” So, who is House, really?

In the pilot episode, the patient Rebecca Adler asks Wilson if House is a “good” man. Wilson responds that he’s a “good doctor.” Going on, and answering Rebecca’s question about whether House cares about him, Wilson immediately responds with House’s mantra: “Everybody lies.” Rebecca points out that actions matter more than words, to which Wilson admits that House does, indeed, “care.”

The “real” House emerges later in the same episode, in much the same way as he does throughout the first three seasons of the show, and into season four — at the bedside of a dying patient. In this episode, Rebecca has decided that she has had enough of tests and misdiagnoses. She simply wants it to be over and tells Wilson so. Wilson reveals this information in front of House and his team, spurring House to pay a personal visit (his first) to this patient. House confronts her, and with great emotional difficulty, gives one of the most impassioned speeches of the series about dying with dignity vs. living with dignity. In the end, she still opts to die rather than undergo any more tests. And House stops pushing her. She has the information; she’s made her decision and House respects that. House, himself, was denied his own right to refuse medical treatment, causing a lifetime of pain and a greatly diminished quality of life.

We are privy to House’s empathic streak — an empathy that can only be possessed by someone who has walked in his patients’ shoes. And it is to those patients alone that he takes off his mask to reveal what lies beneath. And it is in those moments we find ourselves able to forgive House his less stellar qualities. His heartfelt and passionate pleas to his patients are filled with truths not only about the patient, medicine, and (occasionally) philosophy, but truths about the good doctor himself. These reveals are costly to the doc, who spends a great deal of energy maintaining his emotional distance from everyone. But this is a risk House is willing to make in the service of saving a life.

Time and again we are told that House is “all about the puzzle,” like his literary forebear, Sherlock Holmes. However, time and again we are shown that House is much more than a doctor afflicted with a “Rubik’s complex” (as Wilson accuses him in "DNR".) One only needs to watch the season one episodes “Control,” “Detox,” “Sports Medicine,” “Babies and Bathwater” or “Honeymoon” to see that it is more than “the puzzle” that motivates House. See, as well, the second season episodes “Autopsy,” “Sex Kills,” “Euphoria,” “Forever” and “Who’s Your Daddy;” and third season episodes “Son of Coma Guy,” “Merry Little Christmas,” “One Day One Room,” “Half-Wit,”and “Fetal Position.” House is a healer. And no matter how vigorous his protestations and his actions to deny it, when it comes right down to it, he cannot excise this fundamental aspect to his character.

Typically, Romantic Heroes are isolated and loners, often anti-social and outwardly misanthropic. But to be a Romantic Hero is also to possess a certain vulnerability — a way for we readers or viewers to peer into his soul; to access the heart that beats beneath the off-putting veneer. We, as viewers, are the ones who get to see that vulnerability, and even when it’s not there on paper in the script, Hugh Laurie’s brilliant portrayal lets us see between the lines and the words and into House’s heart and soul.

House is a troubled soul, wounded inside as well as outside. Never is House’s vulnerability more evident than towards the end of season three’s “Merry Little Christmas.” House is boxed into a corner (largely, but not completely, of his own making.) His pain meds have been cut off in order to manipulate him into making a deal with the DA: drug fraud charges against him will be dropped if House voluntarily submits to rehab. House is detoxing and in agony. Having solved the medical mystery despite his deteriorating medical status, and having stolen a bottle of oxycodone from the pharmacy, House goes home, declining an invitation from Wilson to spend Christmas eve together. House, who has been popping the oxy tabs like candy all day, places a call to his mother, who is not at home. House is at the end of his emotional rope as he leaves a halting and emotional “Merry Christmas” message on his mother’s voice mail. It is through that phone call, his voice and his devastated state that we can see House as he sees himself: a wreck of a man, whose life is not worth living.

As much as House tries to completely guard himself from those closest to him with high fortress walls manned by armed centurions, he has revealed bits and pieces of his real self to even them: his heartfelt conversation to Foreman in season two's "Euphoria II" about pain and the fear of pain affecting judgment; his awkward confession to Cameron about his relationship with his dad at the end of "Daddy's Boy" (season two); his forgiveness of Chase's season one betrayal; his many unguarded conversations with Wilson, his treatment of Cuddy's infertility in "Who's Your Daddy," to name a few examples.

In an introduction to European Romanticism, a professor at the Global Campus describes the Romantic Hero:

 

The Romantic Hero is often disillusioned about life, about his hopes, his dreams. He is always seeking/longing for something spiritual in nature that is perpetually just out of reach… He is often at odds with society, and is usually alienated from it (if not an actual recluse).

Edward Rochester, Childe Roland (the original Byronic hero), Roland (from Stephen King’s Dark Tower novels), Gregory House: Romantic Heroes all. They are self-destructive and difficult at worst; courageous, intelligent, and noble at their best. Irresistible and magnetic. It’s what draws me into House, MD and into Gregory House as a character. He’s pretty amusing, too.