Changnesia

A digression: my other idea for a blog, if I hadn’t done this one, would have consisted of my making fun of negative reviews of The Tree of Life.  So it pained me to find in this episode of Community a lazy and negative reference to Tree of Life.  Oy.  (and please, go out right now and watch the film, if you haven’t already.  Or even if you have).

But I’m back—cause aside from that, this last week’s episode was a return to form.  Not up with the best half-hours, certainly, but solid—clever, funny, relatively sustained.  A bit too much learning and emotion for me at the end, but largely well-done.

Please, Todd, you’ve been learning so much recently.  My fingers are crossed.  Half of me thinks you’re like “Kevin” on Community—that you’ve been reborn, forgetting that terrible critic “Chang” who you used to be in the past, who liked “character beats” and “emotional journeys.”  I like this new Kevin guy better—he seems to appreciate humor.  You know, in a sitcom. 

So, what did you think?

In story terms, “Advanced Documentary Filmmaking” is likely the best episode of the season.

Ok—this bodes well.

In fact, I quite liked the last act of this episode, which was less laugh-filled

Of course you did.  The fewer laughs the better!

—but had some nice dramatic reversals and some good moments in it.

Dramatic reversals.  What I’m looking for in a comedy.  Plot twists.  My favorite comedy: The Usual Suspects. 

Oh, God.  Chang Werff is back!  Hide the women and children!

Community has always been a show whose greatest theme might be forgiveness,

The clichés have returned!  Yup, it’s the old Werff, no doubt. 

the ability to find a place where people won’t judge you for who you were but who you are.

Groan.

(Maybe Abed wasn’t so far off when he pulled that copy of Lost out of the box in “Abed’s Uncontrollable Christmas.”)

Why do you like Lost so much?  You’re like the last remaining apologist for that show.

In that sense, the idea that “Kevin” Chang might have a literal condition that erases his past and makes him a better person in the present is the ultimate manifestation of that theme.

Yup—a better person.  That’s all that matters.  Though, I hate to tell you, becoming a better person isn’t fucking funny, so the show wisely revealed that Chang’s redemption was all a ruse.  Cause, you know, they want to be funny and all. 

Acceptance is currency at Greendale Community College

Beware financial metaphors.  Always beware financial metaphors. 

The bigger issue, as always this season, is that the jokes just aren’t as good as they were. Not to turn this into my own weekly laugh tally (okay, completely to turn it into that), but I laughed aloud once, and I smiled a handful of other times.

I’m torn, Todd.  On one hand, I’m encouraged that you’re judging the show on its comedy.  This seems like progress.  On the other hand, I found the episode funnier than you’re giving it credit for. 

When it’s not leaning on jokes that were funny in the past, it’s hitting the whimsy button hard, then hoping that our affection for the characters is enough to carry the day. What I’m finding as we get deeper into the season is that this is definitely true for the storytelling in the better episodes, which is a bit softer than it was in the first three seasons of the show and doesn’t go to as many unexpected places, but definitely has the ability to produce moments that play off our affection for the characters and show them as the human beings they are beneath all the sitcom artifice.

I know I’ve said this a lot.  But they are not “human beings.”  There is no “beneath.”  They are, in fact, all “sitcom artifice.”  Because they don’t exist. 

Also, you like to fancy yourself an analyst of television.  Eschewing the supposedly easy road of pointing out when things on the show are funny, and really delving into the “affection for the characters” or whatever you want to call it.  But holy shit, are you imprecise.  “Softer”?  “Unexpected places”?  What the fuck  are you talking about?  Be specific.  In what ways are the jokes more expected? 

You provide only one example in the whole recap:

Was there a real reason for yet more cop show stuff in the middle of a documentary story, other than the fact that we all enjoyed the Law & Order episode and/or enjoy hearing Troy call Annie Houlihan?

Well, it was funny.  So there’s that.  But yeah, sure that was a little repetitive.  But that’s your only example.  And it’s not like the show didn’t repeat the documentary premise already in its first three seasons that you now claim you liked so much.  So if you say this episode wasn’t good, don’t resort to comments about how it lacked “soul”—show me how it was worse!  Oh, right.  That would require actual analysis.  Why would I need that in a review? 

You mentioned in an earlier recap that you wanted to do a comparison of the camera techniques and sets between seasons three and four.  That’s analysis.  That would be illuminating.  Maybe if you weren’t writing these recaps, you could actually be saying something insightful. 

But the jokes are less interested in trying to be off-the-wall or original or daring. They’ve very much settled into a place where the show goes to its most reliable comedic wells and counts on whatever residual affection you have for those wells carrying you through.

Are they less “off-the-wall”?  I think jokes about a naked Asian man escaping from a trout farm are pretty off-the-wall.  Gonna provide any evidence? 

Also, speaking of going to “reliable comedic wells” too often, here’s a quote from last week’s recap:

Other than that, though, the “Jeff meets his dad” storyline was a potent reminder of why the show has borne such fruit from going to this well so many times.

Hm.  Wells.  You seem to mention them a lot.  Do you know have plumbing where you live?  I’m concerned. 

But I can’t say that the jokes are really all that funny, and that can be a problem in a more traditional sitcom like Community, where there need to be at least a few laughs

So, in nontraditional sitcoms, apparently you don’t need any laughs.  Like The Wire, or CSI:NY, or The Good Wife.  Those are fabulous sitcoms! 

I do wonder whether you’re watching the same show as me when you refer to Community as a traditional sitcom.  By golly, it’s just like The Honeymooners!

Comparing the show to its own past is going to continually be disappointing at this point, I suppose, not just because of the vital creative personnel who have left but also because the show is just getting older, and it’s lost a step. This happens. Shows get old, and at a certain point, a switch flips where the drama is almost more successful than the comedy (see also: the final season of The Office, which I haven’t laughed at once but have found compelling as stories about characters I used to care about confronting their worst fears).

I give up, Todd.  I’ve been having the creeping suspicion for a while now that, buried beneath your newfound attention to the actual jokes in Community and your sometimes legitimate critiques of this season, you simply have lost interest in the show for reasons totally unrelated to its actual quality.  Because, let’s face it, you never really liked it.  You always wanted to it be a “larger, warmer whole” with more journeys and beats and magical elves.  The show is not going to “continually be disappointing” now.  Not if you actually pay attention.  Yes, it’s absolutely worse without Dan Harmon, whose name you can’t seem to bring yourself to mention.  But it’s still capable of some good laughs.  It’s not just that its “getting older, and it’s lost a step.”  It’s gotten worse because of changes made by NBC.  But even if the show was still brilliant, you’d be harping on the problems of fourth seasons or some-such bullshit. 

And finally, if you find the final season of The Office compelling for any reason—but particularly because of the “stories about characters I used to care about confronting their worst fears” then you should never be reviewing comedy ever again.  Period.  They’re called scripted dramas.  Watch them; write about them.  But for the sake of the rest of us, stay away from comedy. 

Ladies and gentlemen, Todd Chang is back!

Free Association

Let’s play a game: what do the four quotes below have in common?  Trust me, it’s worth reading through to the end.

   

One:

In September 2001, when Jay-Z dropped his sixth album, The Blueprint, fans and critics alike wondered whether or not Jay had lost his edge. Other rappers greedily clutched at his King of New York crown. Then we heard the album, which was masterful, and specifically Blueprint’s second track, “Takeover,” in which Jigga addressed his rivals, laying into them with the kind of abandon Texas state troopers save for pulled-over motorists with New York license plates.

Two:

Werner Heisenberg, the father of quantum mechanics, stated in his uncertainty principle that the observer in any situation inevitably influences the very thing he or she is trying to analyze objectively. The act of surveillance in itself taints the subject. (I think that’s what he was saying. I am remembering this all from high-school physics.) Heisenberg’s theory plays out in practical, human terms as well. Think of the anxiety produced when a doctor with a stethoscope tells you to “breathe normally.” All of a sudden, a function that your medulla oblongata controls all day without incident becomes a source of conscious despair. “How the hell do I normally breathe?” To realize you are being watched strips away the idea of normalcy.

Three:

Brownies from a mix are fine. There’s nothing wrong with brownies from a box. They’re maybe not as fudgy as you’d like, but if you throw some ice cream on them, they’ll do in a pinch, especially if you’ve gone a while without having brownies from scratch. The longer you consume only Betty Crocker products, the easier it is to convince yourself that they’re as good as the real thing. Then you go home for your father’s 60th birthday party and you taste a real brownie, and you remember how vast the difference actually is. You understand from the first bite that you’ve been lying to yourself. Your last several brownie-eating experiences flash before your eyes one after another, like you’re Bruce Willis at the end of The Sixth Sense. You immediately understand that you haven’t really been living.

Four:

In the years since The Sixth Sense, the name M. Night Shyamalan has become a punch line, synonymous with feeble attempts at suspense. This reputation is not unearned. It does, however, ignore some good stuff like the polarizing but interesting Unbreakable and the mostly delightful alien flick Signs. Unlike, say, The Happening, which creeps its way toward a final twist so weak it couldn’t open a pasta jar, Signs skips amiably to the finish before hopping genially off of a cliff into a chasm of nonsense. The aliens were allergic to water? Was that from a first draft or something? (No apology for giving the ending away. It’s not a spoiler if you wait a decade to reveal the conclusion of a movie that is nonessential viewing.)

If you answered, “they’re all incredibly boring and painful to read,” you’re right!

If you answered, “they all have nothing to do with television comedy,” you’d also be right!

And yet, these are the openings of four of the six recaps of Community episodes this season by Vulture reviewer—and apparently big M. Night Shyamalan fan—Josh Gondelman. 

Look, Gondelman: holy shit is this awful.  You’re not particularly stupid when it comes to your recaps, though they are totally overwritten and rife with food metaphors (FJM reference!).  But really--would writers please stop fucking doing this?  The random tangent Pitchfork intro: it’s not smart.  It’s not edgy.  It’s not creative.  It’s terrible.  Get to the fucking point. 

Lessons Learned

No, I’m not referring to the lessons learned by one Jeff Winger, as he evolves into a healthier, more well-adjusted character (I’m sorry, human being) who cares for his friends and neighbours.  Hell, no.  I’m referring to our old friend Mr. Werff.  Indeed, I come not to criticize Mr. Werff (well, only a little bit), but to praise him! 

What does he think about the March 1st episode of Community? (sorry, I’m a bit behind—sheep giving birth like crazy these days!)

But I will tell you that the first three seasons of this show, in every single episode, even the weakest ones, I would laugh my ass off a handful of times per episode, and pretty much consistently on the stronger episodes. And I didn’t laugh once during “German Invasion.”

Whoa, there.  You mean you’re evaluating a sitcom based on whether it makes you laugh?  How vulgar, how arriere-garde!    Werff, the sources of such phrases as, “It’s funny, but for what?” is now using humor as his methodology for judging sitcoms?  Do I dare to believe that this blog has had some effect on its nonexistent readers?

I just thought this episode was a complete miss in terms of laughs.

What has possessed you, Werff?  Sure, there’s still some bullshit about how “fourth seasons are notoriously difficult for comedies” and about “character arcs and the thematic underpinnings of the show.”  But mostly it’s about laughs.

Look, I didn’t think the episode was as bad as Todd did.  I though the first ten minutes were quite good before it went off the rails.  But, I don’t really care about Todd’s tastes.  I care about the thought process and methodology that goes into his recaps.  And in those terms, this was a big improvement.  I can’t believe I’m praising someone for actually judging a comedy based on its funniness, but, hey, as you’ve seen here, it’s somehow pretty rare nowadays. 

But, ultimately, it’s too little too late.  Cause Werff goes back to that old well of hugging and learning.

And while the concluding Winger speech about everybody trying to band together to make Greendale a better place is nice, I guess, it just doesn’t ring true with the old version of the show, where the characters mostly learned that lesson midway through season one. Repeating it endlessly suggests that the study group—and by extension the show’s audience—has failed to be inclusive enough over the years, and maybe that’s how NBC feels, but Jesus, I sure don’t.

Great—you agree—NBC is pushing the show towards inclusivity, heart: how can I put that?  Maybe “a larger warmer whole”?  Who said that again? 

This is the show you wanted.  More “emotional beats.”  More learning about the characters.  And now—and in the March 7^th episode as well—that’s what the show is focused on.  More and more time at the end of the episode gets filled up with hugging and learning.  Laughs are second.  The problem is not that the characters “mostly learned this lesson midway through season one.”  It’s that time spent hugging is time not spent on comedy.  It’s not complicated.  So don’t complain that you’re not laughing anymore, Werff—you asked for this. 

Death of the Auteur

Despite its overblown headline, this AV Club article about Community is actually not half-bad.  Well, to be more accurate, it’s only half bad.  But, since I’m in a charitable frame of mind today (good goat milk yield today out here in Eau Claire), that means that it’s half good.  And for the AV Club, half good is high praise indeed. 

Joel Keller, writing this article, claims that the departure of Dan Harmon is overblown:

Sure, the show has changed. But, in its fourth year, it’s aging just like most other sitcoms that have gotten this far. It’s gotten comfortable with its characters and has started going back to comedy wells that have become increasingly shallow. Plots get recycled. Characters change, sometimes not for the better. Jokes fall flatter.

I hate this discourse about the “life-cycle” of a sitcom that these people keep throwing around.  Again, Seinfeld: seasons four and five are the best.  But, fine, maybe the departure of Harmon isn’t to blame.  As Keller says,

It’s a pretty safe bet that, if Dan Harmon weren’t Dan Harmon, people would be giving season four of Community a much wider critical berth.

Undoubtedly true.  And Mr. Keller goes on to compare the show to previous sitcoms like MASH that lost their creators. 

These articles are worthwhile.  Certainly the auteur-centered criticism of contemporary TV shows has gotten a bit excessive.  But all these articles ignore a basic fact—that comparison of Community to previous shows like MASH simply isn’t appropriate.  Larry Gelbart left MASH because he wanted to leave MASH.  He wasn’t fired.  And he wasn’t fired specifically (or at least in part) because the network was unhappy with the direction of the show.  Maybe Community is on some natural evolutionary downward spiral.  But everyone seems to forget that NBC wanted the show to be different—wanted it to have more “heart.”  And, lo and behold, now it is different!  Different, and worse, without Dan Harmon.  Mission accomplished.

Apotheosis

It’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for with a mixture of apprehension and nausea.  You thought Steve Heisler couldn’t have topped the nonsensical sentence from his last Parks and Rec recap?  Well, Steve has outdone himself.  All bow before the single dumbest—and yet also most revealing—sentence yet written on that great repository of cultural wisdom, the Onion AV Club.

Our setting: another vacuous review of Parks and Rec

Our time: The present (or, about twelve days ago)

Our hero: The resolute Steve Heisler, pressing on deeper into the Woods of Banality and setting off across the Prairies of Incomprehension.

In his tried-and-true method of cultural analysis, Steve is in the midst of a digression on the groundbreaking idea that “luck truly is residue of good design.”  (missing definite article there, n’est pas?).  Steve Heisler’s next recap: “Watched pot never boils.”  Or: “An apple a day keeps doctor away.”

Steve lauds the ability of (fictional character) Leslie Knope to be a catalyst to her friends (also fictional characters):

As the episode wisely points out, Leslie Knope is responsible for bringing every single person into that room, at that exact moment. These kinds of things happen every day. We just so happened to have witnessed the beginning of this unstoppable chain of events, and it was called “Pilot.”

Ok—banal, but not totally objectionable.  Now prepare yourself.  Deep breath.  Gird up your loins.  Steve Heisler is about to speak to you from out of the whirlwind. 

Really, though, it’s the writers who set things in motion and have gotten out of their way, only stepping in when absolutely necessary. “Leslie And Ben” is some of their finest work.

I know I keep writing this, but the TV “criticism” just keeps getting worse: this is the dumbest sentence I have ever read. 

According to Steve, what the writers of a TV program do are “set things in motion” and then get out of the characters’ way, “only stepping in when absolutely necessary.”  Steve, maybe you mean some notion of modernist impersonality, Joyce’s idea of the artist who has “refined himself out of existence” in the process of writing a novel.  Oh, wait.  You don’t.  You have no idea what you’re talking about.

The way I see it, there are two things you could mean here. (It’s made particularly difficult by your complete failure, here or previously, to have clear pronoun references.  Who the fuck are “their”?) 

Option A: You think the show is improvised.  That the writers set up the situation, and then step aside while Amy Poehler and Rob Lowe make up their lines.  But, of course, that’s not true.  This isn’t Curb.  It’s scripted.  And you know that.  So I’m afraid that what you mean is:

Option B: YOU ACTUALLY BELIEVE THESE ARE REAL PEOPLE! According to you, a writer is like Dr. Frankenstein.  He/she actually goes to a graveyard, hires a hunchbacked assistant, experiments with electricity, and pieces together a Leslie Knope.  Once she’s up on her feet, the writer gets out of her way.  Lets her live her life.  Grow and change and evolve and all those wonderful, unfunny things that everyone at the AV Club seems to love.  Occasionally he/she steps in to help out, maybe scripting some speeches for particularly memorable occasions, but then he/she steps away and the Knopes can go back to their quiet, happy life. 

You know, Steve, I like this—you’ve come right out and stated what’s at the core of all the AV Club reviews.  A creeping Quixote-like compulsion that refuses to acknowledge that most basic of English 101 facts: that all of the “people” we might encounter in a book or a TV show are just words on a page and images on a screen.  They aren’t real.  They don’t live outside the words and situations scripted for them by the writers.  If the writers stepped aside, all you would see up there on your flat screen would be dead air.  Is that what you want?

It’s hard, Steve, I know.  Parks looks like a documentary, with the direct-address interviews, etc.  So it’s tempting to think of Ron Swanson as a real-life meat lover, living in the (fictional) town of Pawnee, Indiana and making up for the mistakes of his past with a new, more fulfilling relationship.  It is tempting.  But only if you’re an idiot.