A Little Bit More Heart

Look: the first three episodes of Community so far have not been very good.  Not nearly as apocalyptically bad as the reviews led me to expect, but certainly sub-par.  Perhaps no worse than earlier bad episodes, but this string of three in a row does not give much hope for the future.

I wish someone at the AV Club could elucidate what’s missing—we all know Professor Werff can’t do it, so what about second-stringer Erik Adams?

As Todd VanDerWerff pointed out last week,

Uh oh.

this is essentially a new show

You’re right!  And by that I don’t mean that the above statement is correct.  On the contrary.  But you’re right—Van der Werff did say that last week.  I’ll give you that. 

Really, ToddErik?  It’s not they’ve re-cast it.  It’s not like this is venturing into the Up All Night single-to-multicamera transition hellhole.  It’s the same show.  Same actors, many of the same directors and writers.  The episodes kind of feel similar (if anything, they’ve gone overboard on the meta-references and genre parodies just to show that it’s the same show).  The main difference?  The jokes aren’t as funny.  Same show, only worse. 

this episode just kind of sucks.

Again, there’s no doubt that the episode isn’t great.  But it still has about four or five very funny moments (mostly in the middle of the episode).  That’s not great, but it’s something (and enough to elevate it over most other comedies on TV). 

But fine, you don’t like it.   What, pray tell, is wrong with this “new” show that, coincidence of coincidences, also happens to go by the name of Community and star Joel McHale, Gillian Jacobs, et. al.

In the spirit of liking liking things, let’s start with the positive: “Conventions Of Space And Time” is a good Troy-and-Abed episode. Their friendship is one of the fundamental building blocks of the show, and the giddy chemistry between Donald Glover and Danny Pudi keeps the increasingly insufferable Inspector Spacetime concept afloat. Qualified statements aside, tonight’s episode re-affirms the bond between these two characters, and Glover especially gets to shine when he exaggerates the emotional rollercoaster of losing a best friend.

Oh, right.  Emotional bonds.  That’s what matters.  If all else fails, at least everyone can still be friends.  Works for Parks and Rec!

By the way: I’m going to keep a running counter of how many times Erik Adams mentions laughter, comedy, humor, or other related words.  So far?  Three paragraphs.  Zero mentions.

These first three episodes treat Abed particularly well, and I suspect that’s because there were more Abeds in the season-three writers’ room than, say, Annies, Brittas, or Jeffs.

Wait, don’t tell me they’ve perfected cloning?  What a scientific breakthrough!  I need to get down to the closest biochem lab and make a double of my prize sheep Veronica.  I’m so glad that the hypothetical writing room of the show can now be filled with numerous versions of the same fictional character!

You think Community’s meta?  Check out Erik Adams!  According to him, the character Abed is actually written by Abed, in some fucked-up M.C. Escher Mobius Strip.  I just blew your mind, didn’t I?

Just tell me you’re not going to make a refrain of this “too many Abeds spoil the broth” thing.

Community has come to reflect his point of view so strongly that it shouldn’t be a surprise that the show might start feeling a little cold and out of touch with the other characters.

Oh, you are going to keep hitting this point!  Great.  So let’s get this straight. You actually believe that all the writers of the show (half of whom have continued from the previous season) are now Asberger-diagnosed pop-culture obsessives.  And you think that the problem of the show is that it’s “cold and out of touch”?  That may be a good description of many American fathers, but perhaps not as apt when it comes to the fourth season of Community.  I’d go for “a little strained and much less funny.”   

Did the show eventually attract too many people—viewers and writers alike—who identify more closely to the Abed Nadirs of the world and not the Jeff Wingers? 

Wait, you mean there aren’t a lot of TV writers who are tall, handsome, and charismatic?  I bet Two and Half Men’s writers room is filled with Adonises.  And, again, that explains its profound brilliance and popularity.  

Also, are you implying that this Winger-lack is the reason why the show isn’t popular?  Too much Abed, not enough Jeff?  Let me explain to you why the show isn’t popular:

1) In the words of this episode, it’s “smart, complicated, and doesn’t talk down to its audience.”  That’s a problem.

2) It’s on NBC.  Last time I checked, they were marginally ahead of “watching grass grow” in the Nielsen ratings.

3) Changing patterns of media consumption, rise of cable networks and the internet, etc, etc, etc, zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz—you’re the ostensible TV critic, not me. 

Ok—enough with this Abedification thesis.  Let’s switch focus to Alison Brie’s character—what do you have to say about her?

—but the lengths to which she [Annie Edison] goes in “Conventions Of Space And Time” suggest that life with Troy and Abed is rubbing off on the character in a damaging fashion.

Again, if you have a trouble with this character’s representation, bring it up with the writers.  Don’t bring it up with Troy and Abed for their nefarious influence.  They didn’t do anything wrong.  They can’t do anything wrong.  Because they’re not people.

the Abed-ization of Community

I just mockingly made up that neologism and now you’re using it in earnest! (actually, I liked my version—“Abedification”—better: more positive!)

has hampered the show’s ability to talk about romantic relationships in open, honest terms

I know!  Beforehand it was a model of interpersonal communication.  It’s strengthened my marriage, allowed me to save money on therapy, and really helped me to open up about my difficult childhood.

I always felt that the hallmark of any sitcom is its ability to “talk about romantic relationships in open, honest terms.”  My favorite sitcom stars a fellow by the name of Dr. Phil.  Maybe you’ve heard of him?

You also realize that this episode spent an ungodly amount of (unfunny) time devoted to romantic relationships between characters? 

Wait, what does this have to do with how this show is written by an army of clones of a fictional character?  Well, apparently, according to Mr. Adams, the problems with Alison Brie’s character can be . . . .

traced back to the kiss the two shared in “Debate 109,” an apt climax to the first truly great episode of Community. But I worry that the kiss stunted the character’s growth.

ABG—“always be growing.”  It’s the AV Club comedy motto.  I might prefer funny, but we’re now at paragraph seven, and still no references to the fact that this is a comedy.

and in an episode that’s sorely lacking in solid laughs,

Finally!  Finally!  One reference to laughs.  And—SPOILER ALERT!—only one more to go. 

It’s true—there weren’t enough laughs.  Too many jokes were strained and didn’t land.  Will you expand on that?

But to mire her [Annie Edison] in the starry-eyed swamp of Jeff’s unrequited affection does the character a tremendous disservice—especially when the previous version of the show and Annie were capable of driving more complicated, character-and-relationship based storylines like the Annie-Pierce tangents of seasons two and three.

Nope—back to “character-and-relationship” blah.  As Grandmaster Werff so precisely puts it, “emotional beats.” 

Also, let’s stop for a moment to appreciate Erik Adams as a model of the grace, economy, and style of 21^st century prose writing. 

To mire her in the starry-eyed swamp of Jeff’s unrequited affection

There’s just so much wrong here.  First off, the “unrequited affection” here seems to be Annie’s, not Jeff’s, right?  He doesn’t seem to care.  Secondly, wholly shit is that a mixed metaphor!  Mire and swamp, okay, but please explain to me how a swamp can be starry-eyed.  I’ll wait.

Hm.  Thought so.

Enough with Annie Edison.  What about Britta’s character?

The rougher edges of Jacobs’ performance make Britta’s dismissal of the convention harder to swallow—she’s a typically stubborn presence, but she’s written like a jerk for this entire episode. And she’s never called out on it, which steals the humor from a lot of Jacobs’ non-verbal reactions to the sci-fi silliness surrounding her. 

Erik, Erik, bubbale.  Well done!  The word “humor” is actually uttered.  You’re making progress. Two problems:  Being a jerk is kind of funny, particularly in, you know, a sitcom.  Calling her out on that so she can become a better person?  Not funny. 

And second, were you even watching the same show?  Maybe instead you caught the British remake, Commonwealth.  Because Britta was in no way a “jerk” in the episode.    Letting Troy spend so much time with Abed?  That seems "honest" and "open"--your terms!

Not that this is the type of thing that needs to be justified, but Community’s having a hard time expressing why Britta and Troy are even together in the first place. Maybe that’s setting up something down the line, but it lends credence to the “too many Abeds in the writers’ room” theory—where there was once a real, human warmth to the show, it’s been missing in these first three episodes. 

Hold up here, big fella.  Yes, Troy and Britta together, that doesn’t work.  Why?  It’s not funny.  Relationships between characters on sitcoms rarely are.  But how does this even relate to your asinine “too many Abeds” theory?  If you’re for “real, human warmth” on a sitcom, and you work for the AV Club, then you love relationships, and learning, and growing, and emotions and all that bullshit stuff that the Britta and Troy storyline is there to provide.  You want to see them all learn and grow—that’s what you were complaining about with Annie Edison, remember?  (It was just a few paragraphs back). 

Here’s the problem.  There are two differences that I see between this season and the last, and they’re related.  One is, the jokes don’t work as well.  Two, there’s way more “emotional” moments of growing and learning than there used to be.  Certainly, that was always a tendency on Community, with the Winger-bringing-it-together-speech (vaguely satirized in a nice moment from this episode), but those scenes were usually confined to a minute at the end.  In this episode there were three such moments, and they were banal and not funny in the slightest (and what was with the terrible editing in the Joel McHale/Alison Brie conversation—what’s wrong with just a two-shot?).  The problem is not the lack of “real, human warmth.”  It’s too much of it. 

And in case you think I’m making it up, here’s NBC boss Robert Greenblatt’s description of this season of Community:  "There is a little bit more heart built in to it, but we didn't fundamentally change it."

Not too many Abeds in the writing room: too many Robert Greenblatts.

And that has an adverse effect on the way it portrays the connections between the characters. Maybe not for Abed and Troy, but I see no reason to keep nudging Annie and Jeff together, other than playing to the deepest wishes of the ’shipping faithful. And if things keep going this way, they may be the only viewers pushing for a fifth-season renewal.

Look—I realize you and Todd don’t entirely want these characters to pair off.  But that’s the way that shows try to tackle “emotion” and “heart” and all those gooey things that you and Todd and everyone at the AV Club want from a sitcom instead of laughs.  Well, now you’ve got a show “with a little bit more heart built into it.” See what you’ve wrought?

Yet for an episode that plays to the show’s “logical Inspector” strengths while holding back its “emotional Constable” side, this may be the least smart Community’s ever been.

There are a lot of stale, easy jokes, yes.  But again, the episode is precisely on the side of emotions instead of jokes.  That’s the problem.  Congratulations, AV Club reviewers.  You’ve got the show you wanted, the show you’ve been clamoring for.  And guess what?  Now you hate it.