The Rehearsal Season-Finale Recap: Come Fly With Me

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What has this season of The Rehearsal been about?

Essentially, Nathan Fielder uses the platform of an HBO comedy series as a means to shed light on a significant safety concern within airline cockpits, specifically focusing on poor communication between the captain and co-pilot. However, this serves as just a starting point for broader themes such as human interactions, artistic expression, television’s influence on reality, and even some whimsical antics like staging a Canadian Idol-like singing competition, collecting air from San Jose to acclimate a cloned dog in LA, and envisioning the German branch of Paramount+ as a Nazi headquarters. It’s important to note that Fielder hasn’t been disingenuous in his efforts to reduce avoidable plane crashes, but the concept has provided enough flexibility for him to explore other interests.

In the captivating conclusion of The Rehearsal, it mirrors the awe of a magic trick’s climax, where all the illusions and distractions disappear, leaving us with the fundamental essence of the performance itself – the idea that dedication and practice can make anything possible. Throughout the show’s duration, when Fielder delivers lines such as “I’ve always felt that if you rehearse enough and rigorously enough, nothing will be left to chance,” it’s been simple to interpret them as ironic. After all, the settings he constructs for these rehearsed situations are far from scientific: Despite the meticulous efforts to recreate a specific environment, such as a small San Jose apartment from 2011 on a stage, there’s nothing authentic about the actors, cameras, and production team that breathe life into this setting. The high-end artifice of Fielder’s productions has often been the most humorous aspect, but it also serves as an inherent hurdle in taking his serious messages seriously.

Similar to “Finding Frances,” the final episode of Nathan for You, titled “My Controls,” is a deeply personal, emotionally resonant conclusion that ties together events from earlier in the show. In “Finding Frances,” Fielder selected an eccentric Bill Gates impersonator from season two and accompanied a 78-year-old man on a mission to find his long-lost love in Arkansas. (This journey included creating a fictitious sequel to the 2011 indie film Mud as a means to access old high school yearbooks, because such is the nature of Nathan Fielder’s shows.) As implied by its title, “My Controls” deals with overcoming limitations and taking charge in situations that appear beyond one’s control or abilities. This could mean a copilot speaking up when the captain is making an error, even though they are encouraged to stay silent. And it might also entail spending two years learning how to fly an airplane, then piloting 150 actors on a rented Boeing 737 from San Bernardino Airport to the Nevada border and back again.

As a movie enthusiast, I must confess, the audition for this flight is quite the spectacle. On an empty stage, Fielder rehearses scenes with a group of well-known faces, each portraying an airplane passenger ordering drinks. The funniest one is the guy whose line to practice is just, “I’m good, thanks.”

Here’s the twist – they will all later embark on a real flight, with Fielder at the helm. Fielder, having a keen understanding of Hollywood, is certain that any safety concerns this flight might pose for his cast would be insignificant compared to their eagerness to participate. When a potential passenger learns that not a single person has declined the offer, he chuckles wisely. (“Wow, actors.”) They’re the brave souls willing to step into the sawdust, metaphorically speaking.

Two years ago, I found myself embarking on my first pilot lesson, marking the start of many to come. On a bustling tarmac, I shared my doubts about making progress in Washington regarding cockpit safety with John Goglia. Realizing that I needed a more tangible way to illustrate the communication issues plaguing every flight, I decided to take the pilot’s seat myself and invite cameras aboard. Although the 737 flight did highlight some of my principles, such as the playful banter between “First Officer Blunt” and “Captain Allears,” it was the journey of me earning my pilot’s license that truly defined this episode. “It soon became apparent that I wasn’t a natural at this,” I admitted. However, that statement doesn’t do justice to how far from innate skill I actually was.

The movie, The Rehearsal, underscores the challenges Fielder faces in completing his flight training, specifically with landings, which are portrayed as a series of different instructors taking over control during approach. Despite spending seven months and accumulating more than 120 hours in the air, he still couldn’t meet their expectations. Although Fielder doesn’t explicitly explain why he is learning at a slower pace than his instructors have ever encountered, his difficulties resonate with last week’s episode about people with autism relating to his work. When he took autistic children to his makeshift airport for practice in what could be a more distressing situation for them than a neurotypical child, it wasn’t to highlight their limitations but their capacity to overcome them. Similarly, if Fielder requires additional training sessions and “chair time” to surmount the fears or mental barriers hindering him, he aims to demonstrate that such progress is achievable.

Despite appearing to be an unlikely source of uplifting and inspirational content, “The Rehearsal” has secretly been Fielder’s aim all season long. What bothers him most about the cockpit-communication issue is that it lacks compassion for human vulnerability. This vulnerability, which can be as damaging in everyday life as it is disastrous during airline flights, can make us hesitant to express ourselves, accept criticism, or, in a pilot’s case, seek help or admit our own worries and uncertainties. In essence, we’re all just individuals, riding in the back of an Uber, trying to avoid uncomfortable conversations. It’s not right in the cockpit, nor is it healthy in real life, to shut down avenues for connection, understanding, and growth.

The significant aspect of the entire episode revolves around Fielder completing a comprehensive health questionnaire for the Federal Aviation Administration, particularly the question regarding his own anxiety. He’s never received an official diagnosis for anxiety, yet he acknowledges recognizing it and feeling it prior to flying 150 passengers as the least experienced licensed 737 pilot in North America. In a bid to resolve this uncertainty, he sets up a situation reminiscent of Schrödinger’s cat, arranging for an FMRI scan of his brain and waiting for results. However, he never shares the text message containing those results, effectively preventing anyone from knowing the outcome.

In this scene, there’s a realistic touch that’s evident in Reddit discussions about the topic (such as “Avoid unnecessary medical diagnoses”). This sets the stage for Fielder to dismiss anxiety (and other similar issues) as obstacles. He successfully completes the flight without any problems, and the ending of Wings of Voice ensues, which declares a winner in the airport terminal, with a Brookstone store visible in the backdrop. Instead of singing a public-domain song, the singer chooses to perform Evanescence’s “Bring Me to Life,” which is a smart use of HBO’s funds, connecting this moment to the mental state of the heroic pilot Sully Sullenberger, while our own hero pilot subtly emerges in the background. The act of Fielder deleting his voice-mail about his FMRI results serves as a moving finale, offering encouragement to neurodivergent individuals or anyone else who feels restricted by their perceived constraints.

In the conclusion, Fielder remarks as he takes on tasks for a firm moving idle 737s. ‘Only the brightest and most capable pilots fly planes of this magnitude,’ he notes, feeling proud. ‘It’s reassuring to realize that.’ He adds, ‘No one is permitted in the cockpit if they have issues. Hence, your presence here suggests you are in good health.’

Amen, brother.

Scenework

In an extraordinary twist of fate, I find myself exceptionally equipped to orchestrate my own experiment. To begin with, I leverage a clever loophole in qualifications by commandeering a 737 and filling it with actors instead of actual passengers. This way, I can focus on the essence of my investigation without the distraction of genuine passengers. Moreover, since I’m the pilot, I don’t have to fret over what my cameras might capture in the cockpit: “I possess the necessary credentials, but if I reveal too much about my emotions and risk losing my license, so be it. This venture is not about a career for me.

If you’re a student pilot who isn’t entirely sure about your development, and another student pilot along with his instructor tragically pass away in an accident while you’re mid-flight, it’s understandable that your sense of worry might increase a little.

• “Is that a bird’s nest up there?” is not a question you want to ask about an airplane.

In various travel scenarios, we’ve found ourselves with a desire to speak up but hold our tongues instead. We rationalize that nothing catastrophic will occur and it’s not necessary to disturb the person managing the vehicle. However, it’s essential to acknowledge the role of back-seat drivers; they are typically irritating 99% of the time, yet indispensable in those rare instances when their input proves invaluable.

Fielder shares additional wisdom from his teenage years as a magician: ‘I felt different, so I observed the movements of everyday people around me and imitated them. This improved my magic skills. However, after spending too much time pretending to be others, I realized that I was neglecting self-discovery.’

Fielder never passes up an occasion to create a sense of discomfort among others, such as subtly questioning his co-pilot about the similarity between landing the 737 and practicing in a simulator: “Is this landing just like it is in the simulator, the simulation?

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2025-05-26 07:54