‘Dawson’s Creek’ Season 1 (1998) an all-time great teen romance

If “Dawson’s Creek” had lasted only through its first 13-episode season (1998, WB), it would be considered an all-time great one-season wonder and would be more revered as an elite TV show. Kevin Williamson, in adapting his own teenhood (with some alterations, including the main character being straight), delivers a deeply analytical yet incredibly heartfelt exploration of four teens and their often-overlapping first loves.

About midway through its six-season run, “DC” morphed into a version of its own competition – the primetime soap “Beverly Hills, 90210,” which ran from one end of the 1990s to the other. But in 1998, “DC” – paired on Tuesdays with the back half of “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” Season 2 for a handful of teen-TV months that will never be equaled – was the cooler, edgier show, knocking “90210” off its perch. (Consider these specific nights of TV: “Innocence” and the “DC” pilot on Jan. 20, and “Becoming, Part 2” and “Decisions” on May 19. There will never be TV nights like those again.)

Before its soapy period, “DC” was bracingly fresh, thanks to Williamson’s (writer of episodes 1-2 and co-writer of 5) purposely stylized voice. Dawson (James Van Der Beek) analyzes his life, particularly his love life, to the three people who will humor him: best friend from up the creek Joey (Katie Holmes), best guy friend Pacey (Joshua Jackson) and new girl (literally) next door Jen (Michelle Williams).

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Single-season influences

Aside from his own life, Williamson’s biggest influences include two one-season wonders. First, we go back to the 1970s for “James at 15,” with good-hearted, clear-skinned James being a more bumbling prototype for Dawson. But not much more bumbling. In “Dance” (episode 2), we (and Joey) watch with dread as we know Dawson is going to say exactly the wrong thing to Jen while she’s dancing with Cliff, so desperate is he to win her back.

Second is 1994’s “My So-Called Life,” wherein Angela narrates her earnest, ennui-laden teenager thoughts in her head. But Dawson narrates his thoughts out-loud. Too out loud, in the case of that “Dance” example where he essentially confesses his love to Jen after not even one real date.

Luckily for Dawson, Jen almost always forgives him, as do Joey and Pacey. In the latter cases, though, the actors subtly convey that the friends have knowledge Dawson (despite his overworking brain) does not. The self-centered Dawson has blind spots for other people, but it’s never out of intentional self-centeredness. He’s simply a 15-year-old.

In “Baby” (6), Pacey looks annoyed (but Dawson is oblivious) when Dawson claims he’s all about romance, whereas Pacey is all about sex. (Pacey has been in a deeply felt relationship with his teacher that’s unforgivable to outside observers but truly romantic to the participants.)

Meanwhile, Holmes (my crush of the late Nineties, which makes me not at all unique) plays the facially expressive Joey as increasingly irked in the back half of the season. She sees that Dawson’s analytical nature is a delaying tactic for growing up. Perhaps because she comes from a less stable home, Joey is much more interested in “growing up” than Dawson is, as indicated by the pilot episode’s famous cold open.

It can be blunt, but its subtlety makes it great

Joey recognizes that she and Dawson are both 15 now, and suggests she shouldn’t sleep by his side after their regular movie nights. Dawson convinces her otherwise, temporarily. Almost every episode is bookended by Dawson in his Spielberg-poster-covered room, in conversation with Joey, who (indicating that Dawson isn’t the only hypocrite) often playfully roughhouses and giggles with her bestie.

The duo often discusses a broad point of film criticism, and this is also where Williamson’s famed meta pop-culture referencing comes in. It’s done more subtly than in the writer’s much-revered “Scream” and much differently than Joss Whedon’s “Buffy,” with which “DC” will always be paired (a mutual compliment).

Whedon’s clever references are in the dialog, whereas Williamson – like Dawson – uses pop culture to turn over ideas while being extremely plugged in to the very moment of the zeitgeist. A good example comes in “The Scare” (11), which opens with Dawson and Joey watching “I Know What You Did Last Summer” and discussing the merits of slasher horror. The film was written by Williamson, hit VHS at the time the episode aired and starred “Buffy’s” Sarah Michelle Gellar. Even today, when meta references are passe, the scene stands out as an ingenious piece of self-referential commentary.

More subtly (despite Dawson’s verbal analyses, “DC” can be subtle) than its links to “James at 15” and “My So-Called Life,” the show draws from Kevin Smith’s movies, especially “Clerks.” Like Smith, Dawson is a self-taught filmmaker. And like “Clerks’ ” Dante and Randal, Dawson talks all the time about movies and himself. Some episodes open with shots of his homemade horror film (starring his friends) as he edits it in his room/studio. Even more crucially for the DIY vibe, Steve Miner (episodes 1, 2, 4 and 6) directs his episodes in rough-and-tumble fashion – in a good way.

Choose your own main character

But why does “DC” Season 1 transcend all its influences? Because its possibly the richest teen romance story ever told. Generally, a romance film has a main character, an almost-villainous “wrong” partner, and an almost-angelic “right” partner. “DC,” owing to it being 13 episodes rather than 90 minutes, is a twist on the “choose your own adventure” idea. Here it’s “choose your own perspective.”

When it aired, I viewed it from Dawson’s perspective, and Dawson is still my audience surrogate. He’s more confident than me, and he trades out the problem of no women for the problem of two women, but otherwise he’s similarly neurotic and overly hard on himself. Plus, he’s simply the main character; it didn’t even occur to me that his POV shouldn’t trump all others.

Now I realize Season 1 could be called “Joey’s Creek,” “Pacey’s Creek” or “Jen’s Creek” – after all, the gals live on the creek too. Pacey’s residence is unclear in Season 1, but given that Capeside, Mass., is a small town, he’s gotta live near the creek, at least.

Since I’m a more experienced TV viewer now, I was able to watch these 13 episodes from all four perspectives. They all ring true, and in retrospect, it’s no surprise that all four actors have been successful. “DC” (especially the early seasons) might be the best role for all of them, but that’s a credit to the show, not a knock on their careers.

Doing a 25^th anniversary rewatch? Have Kleenex ready

Joey’s tale is one of feeling unloved, something I subconsciously grasped until I got blindsided by the scene between Joey and her dad (“who art in prison”) (Gareth Williams) in “Decisions” (13). Bookended by snippets of Sarah McLachlan’s “Angel,” this is the Season 1 scene that most rips me apart.

In a close second place is the concluding scene in “Detention” (7). Joey – amid a Truth or Dare game orchestrated by Abby (Monica Keena, “DC’s” answer to “Buffy’s” Spike, in that she gleefully stirs things up) – is instructed to state the object of her love. Joey can tell Dawson anything, right? Well, except this one thing. She proves her own point from episode 1, but it crushes her, and Holmes’ acting in that scene devastates me.

“Detention” is, of course, “DC’s” “Breakfast Club” episode, an unabashed homage. It’s interesting that I kept thinking of “DC” amid my viewing of John Hughes’ catalog a couple years back, but the opposite doesn’t hold true. This isn’t a knock against Hughes (although his work by 1998 was becoming quite weak), but rather an indication that “DC” was taking the next step in the evolution of teens-on-screen, standing on the shoulders of giants.

Also on this viewing, I finally understand Joey-Pacey ’shippers. Being an unhealthily hopeless romantic for first-love stories, I’m still Team Dawson, I think. But now I realize the seeds of Joey-and-Pacey very much (and very deliberately, no doubt) start in Season 1 with their bickering. It illustrates that classic thin line between love and hate.

Also illustrating that line are Dawson’s parents Gail (Mary-Margaret Humes) and Mitch (John Wesley Shipp, square-jawed like his TV son). In “Hurricane” (5), he hates her with a passion for cheating on him, then later sits with her quietly in the most loving way. While the parents can’t be the talking points amid an overview like this one, it must be noted that the parental influence on the four teens is substantial – in a negative way in three cases. Also the most affluent of the four (although class is never explicitly mentioned), going into the series Dawson has what today might be called Stable Home Privilege.

Do we grow up, or just grow older?

Williams has become the most critically lauded of the actors, and although I wouldn’t have guessed that in 1998 (since I was so Team Joey that Team Jen barely registered as an option), it makes perfect sense. If she’s not the least-well-written of the quartet in Season 1, let’s say Jen is written in the most challenging way.

Notably, she breaks up with Dawson in “Boyfriend” (8) to learn to be alone (she is a serial dater who was “sexualized too young,” as she puts it). But then she immediately dates Cliff (Scott Foley, later of “Felicity”)! On this viewing, though, I see Jen’s deep troubles as they shine through Williams’ eyes – so worldly and soulful that she seems the oldest of the quartet although she’s the youngest.

In early episodes, I almost laughed at how the actors seem older than their characters, and thought of “DC” as existing in an alternate reality wherein high school kids are adults. But I got used to it. And besides, it’s really not that extreme: Van Der Beek was 20, Jackson and Holmes were 19 and Williams was 17 upon the premiere on Jan. 20, 1998.

“Dawson’s Creek” is a reminder that kids grow up too fast – and yet, they never really grow up. At least some of us don’t. While I notice more about Season 1 than I used to, it still feels totally relevant as both a portrait of teenagers and how people of all ages relate to and bounce off each other, particularly in that minefield of romance. It reminds us that, a lot of the time, there are no villains, only humans.

Here are my rankings of the 13 episodes, with the episode number and writer(s) in parentheses:

1. “Decisions” (13, Mike White, Dana Baratta and Jon Harmon Feldman)

I remembered this as the episode where Dawson struggles to tell Joey he loves her for an hour. My memory wasn’t quite accurate; for one thing, the end point is a kiss (a very worthy capper to the season’s main emotional thread), not an “I love you.” A remarkable trait of “DC” Season 1 is that – its fair reputation for verbosity notwithstanding – it says a lot without words. Joey and Dawson never explicitly say they love each other, but they both do, and they both know the other one does – and of course we as viewers know they do.

Now I realize Dawson isn’t shy, or scared of women. He’s scared of losing his comfortable friendship with Joey if he takes it to the next level. (Indeed, his confidence likely comes from the support he’s always gotten from this cute girl from up the creek, officially gawky and “one of the guys,” but actually strikingly deep and pretty.) While it’s true that men are more likely to fall for their opposite-sex friends than women are, the Dawson-Joey storyline effectively conveys that even romance-on-the-brain Dawson places utmost value on this friendship. In the end, though, his heart wins out over his brain – and we’re glad it does.

2. “Detention” (7, White)

White (a now-acclaimed showrunner who did the one-season wonder “Pasadena”) has the credit here, although John Hughes perhaps deserves co-credit since the structure is identical to “The Breakfast Club.” Still, this is firmly an homage rather than a rip-off because it’s all about the “DC” characters specifically.

A supporting-cast addition must be mentioned here: school-hall gossip Abby, who knows so much about this love quadrangle that she must have a spy network or something. Keena, smiling within the same frames wherein our quartet is tortured by ennui, is a delight. From here on out, an Abby appearance is always to be treasured.

3. “Pilot” (1, Williamson)

One of the most perfect series premieres ever crafted, it’s amazing how much is crammed in without sacrificing the breezy, relaxing quality of Capeside (filmed in the Wilmington, N.C., area and seemingly set there, although officially this fictional town is near Boston).

In the first of many examples of a perfect needle drop, the Bodeans’ “Hey Pretty Girl” plays when the trio first lays eyes on Jen – Dawson smitten, Pacey wowed, Joey annoyed. The producers wanted Stone Temple Pilots, but this is better – setting the stage for what would become the “Dawson’s Creek” soundtrack sound: great songs from bands we either discovered from “DC” or know only because of “DC.”

4. “Double Date” (10, Feldman)

I’m a sucker for carnival episodes, but this one is great even beyond its setting. It’s a rare early episode with a Dawson love interest other than Jen or Joey, although poor Mary-Beth (Megahn Perry, giving a sweet, nerdy spin) doesn’t actually draw his interest.

Meanwhile, I haven’t mentioned yet that “DC” can do comedy well; it’s not always morose. This is a great early Joey-and-Pacey episode, highlighted by the scene when Joey is angry at him for “mating” snails in their lab project but actually getting the creatures killed. Joey says “snails” a hilarious number of times amid her rant, and I bet this was intentionally written to draw chuckles.

5. “Discovery” (4, Feldman)

Dawson tells Joey he can no longer be her friend after learning that she knew about Gail’s infidelity and didn’t tell him. I love how Joey essentially shrugs this off, knowing that Dawson is irrationally angry in the moment. It demonstrates how she knows him so well.

The hour ends with Dawson’s fictional tale of himself at a wedding with Jen and Joey present, but in unknown roles. Whether bride or bridesmaid, Joey says she’d be happy to be there. McLachlan’s “Full of Grace” plays over the scene, raising a competition with “Buffy’s” “Becoming, Part 2” (from later this same TV season) of “Who used it better?” The winner is “Buffy,” but not by as wide of a margin as I would’ve thought before this rewatch.

6. “Beauty Contest” (12, Baratta)

I want to rank this one super high, but also super low. The dubbing of Joey’s singing is absurd, but it is a pretty song. Pacey’s rivalry with some random rich girl comes out of nowhere, although it is an interesting false start for his Season 2 interactions with Andie.

For a show that can be as un-PC as anything else in the Nineties (see its homophobia and transphobia), it can also take swings at social issues, usually via Pacey. Here, he enters the Miss Windjammer contest, thus making his point about its inherent sexism. Most interesting in the “Is it problematic or is it sweet?” category is the fact that Dawson’s romantic feelings for Joey click because she looks pretty in her evening gown with lipstick and her hair up. In the end, this is just honest writing, I think. And not as sexist as you’d think: Back in episode 2, Jen lists Dawson’s “clear skin” among his qualities.

7. “Dance” (2, Williamson)

Because Dawson thinks first and acts second, he generally doesn’t get into as many scrapes (not counting inner emotional scrapes) as his forebearer, James from “James at 15.” One notable exception is when he butts in to Jen and Cliff dancing. Like Joey, we see the awkwardness brewing from a mile away yet can’t stop the train wreck. Notably, though, Dawson is forgiven and he learns his lesson. As such, oddly, the episode does make a case for recklessly putting yourself out there.

8. “Kiss” (3, Rob Thomas)

The future “Veronica Mars” creator pens this episode wherein Joey falls for a preppie sailor visiting town. He just happens to look so much like Dawson that he could be Van Der Beek’s lighting double. It’s a sweet fantasy episode for Joey. Thomas also nicely turns Dawson’s overly orchestrated first kiss with Jen into an impromptu (and therefore more memorable) one, smoothly interspersing it with Pacey and Tamara’s secret tryst and some rather picturesque swampland ruins.

9. “Hurricane” (5, Williamson and Baratta)

This bottle episode (set in the Leery house and Tamara’s house) amid an approaching storm is actually a crucial one, most memorable for the scene in Mitch’s SUV where he tells a drenched Gail he hates her guts. That’s powerful stuff. Less so is the introduction of Pacey’s traffic-cop brother Doug (Dylan Neal). Sure, it’s disheartening (as intended) that Pacey’s family is awful to him, but it’s also rather unbelievable. And Pacey’s running prank of accusing Doug of being gay doesn’t age well – although it is so Nineties, and it’s perhaps worth a deeper analysis considering Williamson himself is gay.

10. “Roadtrip” (9, Thomas)

I’m not thrilled about a second episode with Jen’s ex Billy (Eion Bailey), especially since he supposedly left town. However, first, I’m not supposed to be thrilled, and second, Billy is a plot device here. This is truly a Dawson episode, as we see how his sweet nature doesn’t mesh with the proscribed dating scene at a college bar in Providence. I mentioned before that “DC” stands on the shoulders of Hughes, but in regards to a road trip story, not so much – this ain’t exactly “Planes, Trains and Automobiles.”

This is a good time to note how misguided was the hype about “DC” being a sexualized show. It was mostly just that: hype. This should by all accounts be a story of Dawson and Pacey going to a brothel, or at least a strip club. Instead, they simply go to a bar and have the expected struggles in talking to women.

11. “The Scare” (11, White)

This “horror” episode is better than it should be. Dawson’s scare pranks are innocent yet hilarious, like when he puts a fake severed finger amid Pacey’s plate of fries. “Should’ve been a bigger star” Jennifer McComb is a pretty and plucky guest character. It makes me wish Ursula’s storyline — wherein she’s totally forgiving of a terrifying boyfriend — was more nuanced.

12. “Baby” (6, Feldman and Joanne Waters)

Again, we have a bottle episode as Joey’s sister Bessie (Nina Repeta) gives impromptu birth at the Leery home with help from nurse Grams (Mary Beth Piel). Although it has to rank low on this list because it’s such a typical TV plot, it is better than what most shows would do, using it as an opportunity to show that – when push comes to shove – Joey is there for Bessie and Jen is there for her Grams (with whom she has an ongoing debate throughout the season about the existence and qualities of God).

This episode also marks the conclusion of Pacey’s romance with teacher Tamara Jacobs (Leann Hunley), thanks to the inevitable school-board review that drives her out of town. Although the relationship is undeniably wrong (he’s 15, she’s in her 30s; and the actress is in her 40s), and it’s also wiggy to think how differently it would be perceived if the genders were flipped, I must admit these particular actors pair in a rather sweet way. But, um, it’s still wrong.

13. “Boyfriend” (8, Feldman, Baratta, Charles Rosin & Karen Rosin)

What to make of Jen’s ex, Billy? Well, Bailey plays him exactly as he’s supposed to: cute and loyal enough that we see Jen’s attraction, yet mostly smarmy and loathsome. I said previously that I can see everyone’s POV now that I’m a more mature viewer. But nah, I’m on Dawson’s side here; Billy’s a jerk.