30 Rock's Liz Lemon and Jack Donaghy (courtesy of E! Online) and Up All Night's Chris, Reagan and Ava (courtesy
of Max Updates).
Katie Stroh at TVSquad recently published a piece about the lack of "genuine" female friendships on television. Stroh claims that, since Sex and the City and Buffy the Vampire Slayer went off the air, "there's an undeniably enormous gap between the number of shows with female characters whose lives revolve primarily around men and shows that work the other way around." The only representation of a female friendship that Stroh finds compelling is Leslie (Amy Poehler) and Ann (Rashida Jones) on Parks and Recreation.
Stroh makes some interesting points. She notes that many female friendships on television are defined by "petty backstabbing and competitive cattiness," and also points out that, for all the talk of this season being the year of women on TV, many of the new, female-centric TV shows don't present a good portrait of women's friendships (although I would disagree with her claim about 2 Broke Girls, since the central female friendship is about the only thing it has going for it.) Stroh's argument, however, has two major problems.
The first is her over-reliance on the Bechdel Test. The test is an interesting metric, but its existence at this point is really about shock value. As TV Tropes points out, "A movie can easily pass the Bechdel Test and still be incredibly misogynistic. Conversely, it's also possible for a story to fail the test and still be strongly feminist in other ways." The problem here is that Stroh (and she's hardly alone in this), cites the Bechdel test like its the only metric available for determining feminism. Stroh describes the test as a method of measuring whether "female characters have lives and relationships that don't primarily deal with the men around them." In doing so, she not only leaves out a lot of relevant information about the Bechdel Test itself, but is also working off the assumption that women are only friends with other women.
I stuck with 2 Broke Girls as long as I could. I kept at it, in spite of all its problems, because I (like everyone else who defends the show) liked the chemistry between Kat Dennings and Beth Behrs. I liked the more realistic economic backdrop. I liked the fact that no one in the script ever felt the need to label Dennings' Max as "the fat girl," and that she was allowed to be a women with fully realized sexual urges who wasn't portrayed as a slut.
Then series co-creator Michael Patrick King (of Sex and the City fame), had to go and behave like an incomprehensible jackass at Television Critics' Association press tour. After an increasingly uncomfortable series of questions about the ethnic stereotyping that plagues 2 Broke Girls and an equally uncomfortable series of attempts to justify those stereotypes, including falling back on the good ol' "I'm-gay-so-I-can-make-fun-of-minorities" defense, King attacked a reporter in his favorite language: ethnic slurs.
Things took a particularly uncomfortable turn when the reporter who had initially asked about Tassler's [CBS Entertainment president Nina Tassler who had earlier told reporters that she had spoken to King about adding dimensionality to the characters] comments again tried to get King to clarify his remarks, reading the exact quote from the transcript of Tassler's executive session.King asked the reporter for his name. The reporter gave it.
"So you're Irish?" King asked.
"Yes," the reporter replied.
"So we've identified your sexual problem," King said.
2 Broke Girls will certainly not be run off the rails by King's temper tantrum. It's a breakout hit for CBS, and most people who watch the series will likely remain unfazed by this development (if they hear about it at all). That said, I know that King's utterly insensitive behavior was the last straw for me. This incident has made one thing painfully clear: 2 Broke Girls is never going to stop with the racist stereotypes. The best thing I can do is stop watching.
Kat Dennings and Beth Behrs shop at Goodwill on CBS's 2 Broke Girls. Photo courtesy of zap2it.com.
Much of the discussion about TV this fall has focused on the resurgence of the comedy and the corresponding decline in serialized dramas and, especially, reality shows. This conversation often overlaps with discussions of the current economic downturn and, more recently, the economically-driven anger that has erupted into the Occupy Wall Street movement. Most analyses - including this one from the New York Times - draw a link between economic troubles and the resurgence of comedy by citing the tendency to escapism. This explanation is almost always accompanied by a reference to the flourishing of screwball comedies and musicals during the Great Depression, because, at least according to people who write about popular culture, when times are hard viewers want nothing more than to forget their troubles by watching Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dance.
This may be true, but the escapism explanation becomes problematic when you look at last week's ratings. Four of the six leading shows last week were half-hour comedies; Modern Family led the night, immediately followed by Two and a Half Men, both of which beat out the World Series on FOX and NBC's Sunday Night Football. It's the sixth-ranked show, however, that throws a wrench into the escapism theory, as CBS's 2 Broke Girls slid into the top ten, just below The Big Bang Theory.
It's not that 2 Broke Girls isn't funny (although sometimes it isn't; seriously writers, the endless vagina jokes are not edgy). Instead, the reason that Girls' impressive ratings can't really be ascribed to escapism is that this show is, in fact, about two young women existing right around the poverty line. I mentioned in my review of the show that this perspective was refreshing, particularly given a TV landscape that, since Roseanne went off the air, has contained almost no characters for whom money is a real, pressing issue. (It's even more surprising given that one of the co-creators is Darren Star, the man who launched a craze for $600 shoes with Sex and the City). Unlike the many unrealistic portrayals of twenty-somethings who live in enormous apartments, wear designer clothes and eat out every night, Denning's Max is living paycheck-to-paycheck, crippled by debt from unpaid student loans and working two jobs in order to make ends meet.
This case is made in an excellent piece on ThinkProgress.org. Not only does 2 Broke Girls present a realistic portrayal of the lifestyle that most people live, it also points at the reasons underlying Max's poverty. In "And the 90s Horse Party," we learn that Max has been digging herself deeper into debt by only paying off a minimum amount every month and letting the interest pile up. This particular problem is one that contributed to the current economic situation, as people took out loans they couldn't afford and never managed to earn enough money to pay them back. More importantly, however, the show indicates a solution for Max. Smart Caroline (who is a pretty interesting character, as opposed to Stupid, Shallow Caroline) who, let's not forget, has a business degree, teaches Max that she needs to "figure out the interest rates on her credit cards and start paying down her student loan debt because she can't discharge it in bankruptcy." This is a really, really useful lesson, and one that many people haven't managed to learn.
In a TV landscape where financial troubles are alluded to, but almost never explicitly shown (when was the last time we heard about Annie's money problems on Community, much less were actually shown them?), a show like 2 Broke Girls is pretty damned groundbreaking. Not only does the series deal with two characters struggling to make ends meet, it provides a backstory for that poverty that is highly relevant. Most people don't end up poor because of one piece of bad luck, which is what happened in Glee's recession storyline last season; instead, they ended up there because of a system that encourages people to borrow beyond their means, and then penalizes them for their inability to pay back their loans. If this is escapism, it isn't doing a very good job. However, I suspect that people aren't watching 2 Broke Girls for the escapism; they're probably watching because the situation part of the sitcom is identifiable. Now, if only the comedy part would get funnier.
Jane Krakowski and Alec Baldwin in 30 Rock's live episode. Photo courtesy of tvgeekarmy.com.
Ever since the resurgence of single-camera sitcoms that began in the early 00's with shows like The Office, Scrubs and the late, great Arrested Development, a lot of the discussion of comedy on television has centered on the merits of a single-camera setup versus a multi-camera one. When the aforementioned shows premiered, the landscape of TV comedy was dominated by shows filmed using a multi-camera setup - a TV show staged like a play, filmed in front of a live audience with limited sets - including such giants as Seinfeld, Friends and Everybody Loves Raymond. These days, the landscape of TV comedy is much more divided between the two formats, with single-camera shows like 30 Rock, Community and Modern Family squaring off against multi-camera competitors The Big Bang Theory, Two and a Half Men and How I Met Your Mother.
If you look at those lists of shows, you can probably guess what a lot of the dialogue surrounding the issue is going to look like. These days, single-camera shows have an aura of youth, cleverness and intelligence that multi-camera sitcoms just don't. When a single-camera sitcom falters in the ratings, viewers and internet commentators tend to react with cries of, "It's just too smart for most people," while multi-camera failures are greeted as a sign that the format is too "old-fashioned" or "dumbed-down." I have definitely been guilty of this; as a huge fan of Community's rapid-fire dialogue, willingness to venture into the absurd and sharply-drawn characterizations, I tend to explain the show's (painfully) low ratings by dismissing those who don't love it as unintelligent and old fashioned, viewers who wouldn't know originality if it bashed them over the head.
I should probably stop doing that. Because the thing is, a sitcom's use of the single-camera format doesn't mean it's automatically smart and funny, and the presence of a live audience and multiple cameras doesn't indicate the opposite qualities. I started to rethink my position after watching new fall offerings New Girl and 2 Broke Girls. Those who read my review of those shows will probably remember that I found New Girl to be grating and reliant on cliches, while 2 Broke Girls had a fresher perspective. (The second episode of 2 Broke Girls was less promising, but I think the kinks can probably be worked out.) 2 Broke Girls also happens to be a multi-camera sitcom.
That's not to say that the two formats are interchangeable. There are a lot of things that you can do with a single-camera show that just aren't possible with a multi-camera setup. The latter, by definition, features limited options in terms of sets - it's why Seinfeld almost always took place in either Jerry's apartment or Monk's Cafe. The difference in scope is nicely illustrated by comparing scenes featuring paintball from The Big Bang Theory and Community:
The BBT scene is certainly funny, and even features a nice moment of film parody in Sheldon's dramatic death scene. However, the scene is basically limited to the guys talking in a shed, and Sheldon being shot from offscreen, since the sets are presumably open to the audience. Now watch the Community clip:
Even ignoring the hopped-up opening credits, there is a lot going on in this scene. From the fact that the scene takes place in a hallway (something you rarely see in a multi-camera setup) to the way the camera angles are used to create suspense (is Annie going to catch Neil before he shoots her?) to the dramatic close-ups on both characters' faces, this is not a scene that could take place on a multi-camera show. Like almost everything that happens on Community, it wouldn't be possible. (Just think about the fact that most study group scenes take place with all the characters sitting around a table. Not going to work when you have a live audience to contend with.)
Another difference between the two formats is the comedic rhythm. Multi-camera shows shot in front of an audience rely heavily on a setup-punchline rhythm; the point is to make a joke, let the audience laugh, and then get started on setting up the next joke. Single-camera shows don't work like that. The jokes can come thick and fast, forcing the audience to break out of a particular rhythm and try to catch as much funny as they can. It's the reason you can watch any given episode of Arrested Development for the tenth time, and still pick up on new jokes and references. You can see the way the comedic rhythm alters if you watch 30 Rock's live episode. The episode was aired live, so it's considerably rougher than your average multi-camera sitcom, but it follows the same format, and the pacing differences are apparent. This isn't a time for a rapid-fire string of impressions or gollum-esque multiple personalities; instead, the episode sets up punchlines (Jack wearing a hand-knit poncho, Liz's continually dashed hopes that someone remembers her birthday), knocks them out of the way, and gets started on the next joke.
The thing is, a more polished version of the 30 Rock live episode would probably be a pretty great show, at least as long as Tina Fey was behind it. It just wouldn't be 30 Rock. That's the thing about debating the merits of the two formats; one isn't inherently better than the other, they're just different. It seems a little ridiculous to mock the multi-camera format as old-fashioned when it gave us a show like Seinfeld, which was not only groundbreaking in its time, but which holds up just as well today. Conversely, it seems disingenuous to argue that single-camera shows are smart and modern when that format gave us Outsourced. A show shouldn't be judged by its format, it should be judged by how the format is used to capture the spirit of a particular episode. One of New Girl's biggest problems (in addition to the shallow characterizations, lazy stereotyping and painful attempts to be cute) is that the writers are using a multi-camera, setup-punchline rhythm in a format built for rapid-fire jokes and sophisticated visual gags.
If a single-camera show is going to be worth the extra money (shooting in this format is much more expensive and time-consuming, because you have to shoot multiple takes of each scene and built much more elaborate sets), you have to know how to use the format to your advantage. Right now, Community is the best example of the sheer potential inherent in the format; the over-the-top movie parodies wouldn't be possible in a multi-camera setup, and the quieter, more emotional moments have more punch because the actors can play them more naturally, rather than having to perform them for a crowd. On the other hand, The Big Bang Theory takes advantage of the format by having long takes that focus on the interaction between the different characters and that feel organic in a different way; since everyone's coverage is filmed simultaneously, the scene can just be about the actors playing off each other and establishing a great give-and-take. BBT excels at this type of scene, and these interactions between the main characters are one of the reasons I keep coming back to the show.
The point that I'm trying to make (and that I may have lost for a while in the middle there) is that neither format is inherently better. The format of The Big Bang Theory plays to its strengths - a strong ensemble, a relaxed rhythm, and the kind of energy that results from performing in front of an audience - just as the format of Community allows both the grandiose parodies and the sweet, quiet moments to really pop. It's not about the format you use, its about what you do with it, and really understanding the merits and drawbacks of either format is the only way to end up with a genuinely good product. So let's stop calling multi-camera shows "stupid" and single-camera shows "weird," and just let them both be as funny as they can be. If we can put aside our differences, we can focus on our real enemy: reality television. Seriously, that stuff just sucks.
Whitney Cummings and Chris D'Ella in NBC's Whitney. Photo courtesy of daemonstv.com.
Yael Cohen at The Daily Beast recently took it upon herself to argue that Whitney Cumming's eponymous NBC sitcom represents a shift in the world of female stand-up comedy; namely, that Cummings can break down the barriers that keep skinny, long-legged, hot women from pursuing a career in an industry dominated by men, unattractive women and lesbians. If Cohen is right, Cumming's success onscreen (she's also a creator of CBS's Two Broke Girls, but behind-the-scenes work apparently doesn't count) could pave the way for the poor, disenfranchised hot girls who just want to do stand-up comedy, but who haven't been given the chance.
That might sound a little harsh, but I've always had a problem with attractive female actresses and comedians complaining that their looks prevent people from taking them seriously, despite a multitude of studies showing that attractive people earn more money, are smarter, and are happier than their less attractive counterparts. In a looks-obsessed culture like Hollywood, it seems even more ridiculous to argue that a woman who looks like Cummings is put at a disadvantage because of her beauty. Cohen, of course, has an explanation for this that takes her argument from questionable to actually offensive. She quotes Dave Rath, a (male) comedy manager, saying "So when a hot girl goes on stage all the guys want to be with her and all the women are like, why is my boyfriend looking at her that way? So the audience was always put off a little bit by attractive women."
Rath's explanation, and by extension Cohen's, hinges on the idea that women are jealous shrews who can't handle the presence of an another attractive woman, much less an attractive woman who is also funny. (To her credit, Cummings contradicts Rath, saying "Whereas I used to think that looking pretty or sexy would alienate women, now it's the opposite. Now I feel like when I embrace my femininity, it makes women relate to me more, because they go 'Oh, she's just like me, she puts on makeup, she tries to look cute...'") The bigger problem here, however, stems from another one of Rath's words of wisdom: "[Comedy] is about vulnerability, people have to identify with those things and that's what everybody is laughing it." The audience has to identify with the person onstage and their problems in order to find that person funny, and most women just do not look like Whitney Cummings (or similarly attractive comics Sarah Silverman and Chelsea Handler).
Of course, the fact that Cummings is hotter than most women doesn't mean we can't sympathize with her. I can sympathize with Liz Lemon just fine, and Tina Fey is nothing if not good-looking. The problem is that 30 Rock is a quick, well-written show and Whitney just isn't. I watched the pilot episode of Whitney, and it wasn't Cumming's looks that kept me from laughing at the show; it was the way the half-hour was devoid of any originality and simply rehashed the same tired jokes about couples who don't have sex enough and unreliable men. Whitney could have been a smart, incisive look at a part of our society that doesn't get a lot of screen time - committed couples who, for whatever reason, choose to remain unmarried - in the vein of this fall's best new comedies Up All Night and 2 Broke Girls. Instead, the jokes are straight out of a King of Queens rerun, and the writers fall back on the old romantic comedy cliche of making the gorgeous Cummings more vulnerable by making her socially inept. (Seriously, who sees a three-tiered display of cupcakes at a wedding reception and doesn't realize that those cupcakes are the trendy wedding cake?)
Cohen concludes her piece by saying that Whitney's failure would signal to the television industry that "audiences aren't ready for a rom-com sitcom centered around a good-looking female standup." Whitney has a good shot at survival - it is on NBC, after all, a network that tolerates low ratings because it's too busy circling the drain to worry about them - but its cancellation shouldn't mean that audiences can't handle a good-looking female standup. It means that audiences are discerning enough to reject a pile of week-old leftovers dressed up with a sprig of parsley to make them look "fresh." If you want to support Cummings, watch the very funny 2 Broke Girls and root for Kat Dennings, a female protagonist who is refreshingly normal-looking while still being pretty damn hot. That is the kind of barrier-breaking television that I want to see.
Kat Dennings and Beth Behrs in 2 Broke Girls; Zooey Deschanel in New Girl. Photos courtesy of poptower.com and ew.com.
2 Broke Girls and New Girl, which both had their premieres this week, are two very different shows featuring female protagonists. One is shot in the decidedly un-hip multi-camera format, complete with laugh track, while the other takes advantage of the single-camera style that distinguishes shows like 30 Rock and Community. One airs on CBS, which is widely regarded as a network that caters to middle-aged people with a focus on procedurals, while the other airs on FOX, a network that prides itself on being the home of Family Guy. And one of these shows is trying to present a different portrayal of women as independent, smart, foul-mouthed and tough even in their vulnerability, while the other trades in tired cliches and substitutes quirks for actual personality. Oddly enough, the clever, transgressive one is CBS' new multi-camera sitcom 2 Broke Girls. The other one is FOX's New Girl.
2 Broke Girls is the story of Max (the phenomenal Kat Dennings), a tough, streetwise waitress, and Caroline (Beth Behrs), a trust-fund baby who loses her fortune to her father's ponzi scheme and ends up waiting tables with Max. The description may sound unoriginal - it certainly did to me when I first heard about the show - but the somewhat clunky premise is redeemed by writing that is mostly sharp and outstanding performances by the two lead actresses, as well as a fairly realistic portrayal of a social class that doesn't often show up on television.
The great thing about 2 Broke Girls is the way that the writers, Dennings and Behrs refuse to let Max and Caroline slide into cliche. Yes, Max may be a sardonic, streetwise chick, but she is also able to drop her prejudices long enough to see that Caroline really needs her help. Her dialogue is sometimes overwrought - a few too many casual uses of the word "vagina" come off as desperate rather than hip, and an unfortunate pun about Coldplay nearly derails a magnificent takedown of some hipsters - but Dennings imbues the character with a likability that complements, rather than contradicting, her smart sarcasm. It's also nice to see Dennings - a real woman with a real woman's body - playing a character for whom body type is a complete non-issue.
Caroline's character is slightly more schizophrenic, although this seems to be the fault of the writing rather than Behrs' sharp, nuanced performance. Caroline starts the hour as a stereotypical, Paris Hilton-type rich girl who has never worked a day in her life, but Behrs imbues the character with a shrewdness and intelligence that belies this initial impression and makes you believe that yes, this character probably did attend the Wharton School of Business. By the end of the episode, Caroline has demonstrated that, while she isn't the most street-smart person in the world (which she obviously wouldn't be) she is far from the vapid heirhead that the earlier scenes made her out to be. Similarly, Max and Caroline become friends by the end of the episode, and while their playful mockery of each other continues, it's clear that they like and respect each other.
The supporting cast, however, never makes it out of the realm of stereotype. It's only the first episode, and things could easily change for the better, but the parade of cliches in the supporting cast is baffling, particularly when compared to the well-rounded leads. In particular, the Park Avenue matron for whom Max nannies during the day is so one-dimensional that her lines made me wince.
Along with its two immensely talented leads, the most impressive part of 2 Broke Girls is the honest but not depressing way the show portrays the life of the working poor. Max and Caroline aren't the cast of Friends, living in spacious apartments and dining out every night - they're both working menial jobs (Max works two of them) and living paycheck to paycheck. The reality of their situation is all too prevalent, given the current state of economy, but it's also a reality that is only rarely seen on TV, and hardly ever in a half-hour sitcom.
New Girl, on the other hand, has hardly a shred of reality to call its own. This isn't necessarily a bad thing - 30 Rock and Community are hardly realistic, and they're two of the funniest shows on TV - but the show really needs something to ground it, particularly since none of the characters are anything more than a collection of quirks. While watching Zooey Deschanel's over-the-top, "adorable" antics, I found myself thinking of a line from the excellent Doctor Who episode "Amy's Choice:" "If you had any more tawdry quirks, you could open a tawdry quirk factory." Well, not only has Deschanel's Jess opened the factory, she's produced enough product for a lifetime of sales.
I'm not a Zooey Deschanel hater. I enjoyed her performances in Elf and The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and I didn't even hate her that much in (500) Days of Summer. The difference between her roles in those films and her role in New Girl, however, is that in those roles she was actually playing a character. New Girl's Jess, however, isn't a character; she's a collection of eccentricities and insecurities that never coheres into an actual human being. When your character's defining trait is cutely singing at random moments, it might be time to evaluate your performance. Not to mention that Deschanel is trying to so hard to be adorable and quirky that it's exhausting to watch. Dial it down a notch, Zooey; stop and take a breath once and a while.
None of the other characters are really any better. The three guys that Jess moves in with after a nasty break-up are barely sketched caricatures - the sadsack, the jock, and the douchebag. Of these three, the sadsack, who goes by the name of Nick (Jake M. Johnson) is the most relatable, largely because he is the only character who doesn't exist solely for the purpose of being funny. Nick's conversation with an ex-girlfriend outside a party is one of a few moments that seems to be grounded in any kind of reality, and it's a nice break from the forced cutesiness that plagues the rest of the episode. Of the other two guys, Max Greenfield's Schmidt spends most of the episode taking his shirt off at random moments and being forced to put money in a "douchebag jar," while Damon Wayans Jr.'s Coach was written off the show after the pilot episode, and is thus completely irrelevant.
New Girl will probably stick around for a while, based on a confounding number of good reviews and the love that many critics and viewers have for Deschanel. I'm hoping that 2 Broke Girls also manages to stick around long enough to iron out the kinks and present the honest, funny portrayal of female friendship and financial worries that is waiting to get out. I personally hope that New Girl sticks around long enough to do a crossover episode with 2 Broke Girls, because I would love to see what Max would have to say about Jess' hipster glasses and general lack of self-awareness, not to mention her complete lack of common sense. I bet that even Caroline could come up with a few choice words.
