Come Fly With Me - Episode One

Come Fly With Me, starring Little Britain's David Walliams and Matt Lucas, aired on Christmas to an audience of around 10M (roughly the same as Doctor Who's overnights).

I like Lucas when he works with Reeves and Mortimer. I liked Walliams's contributions to Doctor Who Day 1999. However, I don't like them together* -- I've yet to finish an episode of Little Britain. I thought I'd try out Come Fly With Me to give the duo another chance.

Mockumentary style is nice, albeit trendy (I haven't tired of it... yet). No laugh track; we're off to a good start. Walliams and Lucas play all of the primary characters. That's the gimmick, that's part of the appeal, because people know and like Walliams and Lucas and half the fun (hence my use of the word gimmick) is seeing them skillfully inhabit vastly different characters.

(That doesn't happen on American television. One actor per role, 99 times out of 100. It occurred to me that, if the humor worked, a sketch show like CFWM that boasts a huge cast of characters might be quite successful here. A one-to-one actor to character ratio in the US would mean spotlight opportunities for many actors, because in a sketch show ideally no storyline is neglected (FlashForward, Glee, proving the point). Then again, where are any sketch shows in the US? Not on the air.)

The League of Gentlemen has infinite rewatch value, for me, because I love Gatiss, Pemberton, and Shearsmith. The actors I fell in love with keep me coming back. Walliams and Lucas hit the jackpot with Little Britain; the whole UK knows who they are. Their names don't even appear on screen until the end credits, because they don't need to be. Fans and curious viewers tuned in to CFWM because of name recognition and (probably) an extensive ad campaign by the BBC. Walliams and Lucas are big.

Unfortunately, CFWM's humor just doesn't work. CFWM's non-white characters are stereotypes, hardly characters at all. You can have a comedy that isn't nonstop laughs and is still a great show. This isn't the case here because CFWM doesn't have any depth (rounded characters) or sub-genre (TLOG's horror) to fall back on. It's just a comedy that isn't funny. A gimmick does not a successful comedy make, in the long term. Or even the short term.

* ETA: Actually, I thought Mash & Peas was decent. So I take that back.

Community - Mixology Certification, 2.10 (& The Office)

Community is fantastic. Mixology Certification is tonally at odds with the rest of the series, I'll admit, but that doesn't mean it's weaker; it's just different. Remember, this is the show with episodes like the action-packed Modern Warfare as well as bottle episode Cooperative Calligraphy. It's a young show, and its willingness to experiment shouldn't be held against it. In fact, I think its unpredictability in style and plot, grounded in its strong and familiar cast, makes it all the more compelling.

Thursday's episode wasn't very funny. And I say that in the best possible way. Because at the expense of humor, we got to look at these characters in a very different light. We saw them in a bar, where Jeff and Britta are exposed as children and Shirley as imperfect with a shameful past, and we see Troy absorb all of this. Troy's the stupid, funny jock but as he turns 21 he grows up. He becomes a man, according to Jeff. It's strange to see Troy as the moral center, the most down to earth member of the crew; but tonight he is. This might have been the obligatory character development installment of the season, but I think it turned out to be a lot more than that. It exposed all the characters, some in more obvious ways than others, but all still poignant: Pierce is helpless, Shirley regrets her alcoholic past, Annie is unsure of the path she's choosing (played BRILLIANTLY by Alison Brie, as usual), Jeff and Britta are argumentative and immature. And Troy sees all of this, and for once we see an episode through him, and it's surprisingly sincere.

Mixology Certification is bleak, and I love it for risking that. If I've learned anything from writing this blog, it's that I love shows that are a hybrid of comedy, drama, and heart. (Sprinkle a few aliens or alternate dimensions or superhero ASBO shitheads in there, and you have my undying love.) There are sketch comedies like Bruiser that are hilarious but don't have an emotional draw. And that's not a fault, that's just the way the show is. It's still ace. But if I'm not emotionally invested in some way, it's not an all-time favorite... or at least, that's the hypothesis right now. We'll see! This blog is an experiment!

- - - - -

"Imagine a country... where forks are irrelevant." All right, Office, you can make me laugh occasionally (and I am always surprised when you do), but you can't make me love you again. The spark is gone. I used to be emotionally invested in Pam and Jim and amused by Michael (wow, those were the days) but now I simply don't care about anyone. Are the characters less real now that we know so much about Oscar's holier-than-thou attitude (remember when he was just the gay Mexican one? With the bitchy art critic boyfriend Gil?), and we have been fully exposed to the deviousness of Angela. Shouldn't fleshed-out characters deepen an audience's relationship with a show? In a sitcom like The Office, plot propels but characters compel. And that's the most important thing. That's what keeps viewers watching and wanting more. Pam and Jim were TV's most popular "will they or won't they" because they were endearing and realistic.

Thursday's episode China is funny, but I found that while watching, I was bored and simply uninterested in what was going to happen next. Maybe I've just lost interest.

Unfortunately I was only half paying attention by the end and can't write an informed piece about Dwight being "not motivated by compassion" which seems like something I'd normally like to explore. Oh well.

This emotion in comedy thing... I'd like to write about the Extras special sometime. I'd say the same about the British Office, but I'd just be reiterating all the positives I've written about the US Office. (I.E. investment in Jim and Pam = good. Relatable humor in the mundane = good. Though it would differ in the Gareth/Dwight and Brent/Scott aspects because both versions of the characters are excellent for different reasons.)

And one of these days I will write about Catterick. One day.

The League of Gentlemen - Destination Royston Vasey, 2.01

The second series of The League of Gentlemen should NOT have had a laugh track. This series more than the first used fewer direct jokes in favor of bizarre situations and characters. The first episode of the second series, for instance, features two sketches that are hindered by laughter: the charity shop scene, in which the escalating situation is funny on its own, and when punctuated by laughter, is excessive. The viewer gets the joke. It doesn't need to be defined. The second sketch is the infamous Papa Lazarou one. The League of Gentlemen is a horror-comedy that is often grotesque and strange. The second series in particular draws inspiration from classic horror tropes and utilizes dark imagery. The humor is excellent as ever, but it's the darker tone that is truly compelling. The entire scene is bizarre and funny. Everything Reece does is spot-on, from the gibberish babble to the peculiar body language to the incongruous strut. "Want to buy some pegs, Dave?" incites laughs as it's meant to. But "You're my wife, now!" at the end, as Steve takes off his wedding ring in resignation, doesn't. And it's obvious why. The sketch took a brilliantly sinister turn, and though it's still funny, it's not laugh track-suitable. And when the laughter is taken away at the end of the sketch, it is more evident than ever how much the series just doesn't need it.

Glee - Special Education, 2.09

Lackluster episode draws to a close. Then: Tina and Mercedes belt a Florence and the Machine song while the rest of the radiant, adorable cast dances around them. You can't not smile.

I don't like this show as much as I did. But I can't hate it, either, because of moments like this. I was reminded that TV doesn't have to be intellectual to make me happy.

The League of Gentlemen - The One-Armed Man Is King, 3.02

Sometimes an episode I'm watching is so good I just have to stop and write about it.

I've seen all three series of The League of Gentlemen more than three times over. It's my favorite comedy, possibly my favorite show of all time. I am just in constant awe of the League -- Mark Gatiss, Jeremy Dyson, Steve Pemberton, and Reece Shearsmith -- and their ability to create stories, characters, jokes, all so fantastic and bizarre. The series is all at once side-splittingly funny, brilliantly atmospheric (Royston Vasey is so distinctive; it's its own character), and at times, nightmarish and horrific. And on top of that there are the just stunning performances from the League's three actors. I cannot say enough about the brilliance of these performers. They can do absolutely anything. I was recently struck by a rewatch of "The Lesbian and the Monkey," one of my favorite episodes, in which three of the four main storylines focused on characters played by Steve and Mark. At a few points, the scene would transition from Pauline and Mickey, to Dr. Carlton and Mrs. Beasley, to Earnest Foot and Sheila Foot, all played by Steve and Mark respectively. Vastly different characters, completely believable performances. And I haven't even mentioned Reece, who I believe is the strongest actor of the three (with Steve as close runner-up).

Anyway, the part I'm currently paused at in "The One-Armed Man Is King" (series 3 episode 2) involves all three actors. Glenn (Mark) and Barry (Steve) work as debt collectors for Mr. Lisgoe (Reece). They're in a trailer, and Lisgoe is instructing them, rather violently, on how to collect. In this sketch (possibly my favorite out of the whole series), Mark plays the straight man to Steve's goofy, bumbling fool and Reece's terrifying and violent boss character. The whole thing is magic. Steve brings the laughs effortlessly, as usual (he rarely plays the straight characters, and he's often in the position of goofy/strange foil to Mark or Steve's villainous/straight -- Tish, Herr Lipp, Tubbs), Reece shows off his tremendous dramatic chops, while Mark looks on, acting suitably horrified. I simply cannot get over how fantastic Reece is in this scene. There's an outtake that shows how much he gets into the role, and it's honestly scary. Yet despite the terrifying nature of the character, the whole thing still manages to be funny because of what Steve does with it.

Exhibit A.

I'm close to wrapping this up solely because I don't have enough synonyms for "fantastic" and I hate to reuse too much, but I do want to say something about series 3 as a whole. It's definitely my favorite of the three. It scrapped the laugh track and gained a cinematic feel that I think really bolstered the show's creepy tone. It became incongruously emotional in parts and had a connecting element at the close of each episode. It explored more of the minor characters from previous seasons. The music is impeccable, especially the uplifting "While There's Still Time." I love the whole thing so, so much.

Glee - Never Been Kissed, 2.06

I don't write a ton about Glee because it's cute and fun (and flawed) and when I write about it I tend to focus on the bad things, so I prefer to just watch and enjoy it for what it is.

But I did want to link to Tom and Lorenzo's post about "Never Been Kissed," because I feel it's important. So there you are.

Injecting Reality Into the Absurd

Injecting Reality Into the Absurd: When TV Comedies Make You ~Feel Things~

I felt a twinge of something as I watched the last episode of Black Books. Maybe it was regret -- after all, it was the final episode, and I was sad to let these characters go. The entire episode took place in the shop, with only the three primary characters. It was an ordinary, and therefore fitting, goodbye. But something happened in the episode that struck me as out of place: Bernard, drunk as always, reveals to his equally drunk friend Fran that he's so sardonic because his ex-girlfriend had died. A beat. Then Fran counter-reveals that No, she's not, and she's got photos and dental records to prove it... the joke continues.

But in the moment when Bernard acknowledges his dark and unfriendly disposition is the result of a death of someone he actually loved, I believed it. For a few seconds, he wasn't a cut-out spouting Linehan gold; he was a real person, for just a moment. It was there to build up for the joke, I know, but I wonder if it was saved for the characters' swan song because it would have felt strange anywhen else. (On the other hand, in the first season of The IT Crowd, there is a similar seemingly sincere sequence in which Roy acts gentlemanly to Jen, but it is actually the build up to a gag.) Either way, I loved that extra dimension, and I regret it was gone before it went anywhere. That made me think: I don't need emotion in my comedy -- do I?

Some shows balance comedy and heart: Community, Glee, Friends, Modern Family, and Raising Hope are some examples. They've got quips and jokes, but also an emotional center (more often than not addressed at the end of an episode) as a result of the relationships among the characters. The emotion does not compromise the humor because the shows are built solidly around both.

So what of comedies that are more joke-based than character-based? I've written about how It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia and The IT Crowd are examples of this, along with the aforementioned other Graham Linehan work, Black Books. It's Always Sunny characters are tools (in more ways than one) that confront situations in outlandish, strange, and therefore funny ways. It's a show about stupid, selfish people. I love the show because Charlie's hobby is magnets, because Sweet Dee looks like a bird, because Dennis tapes himself having sex, because Mac cuts the sleeves off all his shirts. I don't think the show needs to humanize its characters and explore their emotions; in fact, I think that would make it a weaker show, because I don't need to care about these characters to think their antics are funny. I can't relate to them, and don't need to to enjoy the show.

On the other hand, there is 30 Rock, a show that is also clearly joke-based. At the end of season 2, Liz thinks she's pregnant and leaves Jack a string of increasingly panicked voicemails. Any jokes made were secondary to the range of emotions that played over Alec Baldwin's face, which smartly comprised the entire scene. Liz's messages are first surprised and panicked, then accepting, then excited, until her brief, final message plays: "Never mind, I am not, um... Never mind." It works because women can identify with Liz Lemon and her love of eating, her frustration with work, her taped-together bras. 30 Rock is a great, hilarious show. To me, this scene made it even better. I knew the added dimension wouldn't necessarily be visited again, but it worked as part of the episode's story, and didn't compromise any of the humor.

Bolstering character is harder when they are more one-dimensional. In Extras, Maggie is the definition of simple. However, there is a quiet scene in which we see her in her apartment, straightening her hair, because she's told she needs to grow up. It's sad because Maggie is fine the way she is; she is ditzy but lovable. In the last episode of The League of Gentlemen, Ross gives a little wave and a smile to Pauline on her wedding day, even though he is a manipulative "villain" character. Even though Ross is one-dimensional (arguable, I suppose, after series 3), it's a heartbreaking moment.

Arrested Development had a straight man in Michael Bluth, "the one son who tried to keep it all together." Even so, I'd estimate he was only about 60/40 -- if the episode needed him to make a "huge mistake" or act like a fool like the rest of his family, he would. All the emotional parts of the show had to center around him, because he was the one normal people could relate to. He pined after Marta and the two "normal" characters shared a sincere moment or two. So did the sincerity richen or weaken the show? The humor? The sincere moment itself was not played for a joke (though later their relationship would be) and it contributed to the humanization of Michael Bluth. Michael needed to be perceived as a person, not as a caricature like the rest of his family. In this way, I don't think it weakened the show. In addition, I don't believe the audience's identification with Michael was a detriment to the show's humor -- the jokes worked or they didn't, perception of Michael irrelevant.

Other examples of the straight man placed in a comedy of errors are Henry and Casey in Party Down and Tim and Dawn in The Office. The relationships between the "normal" characters gave something for the audience to empathize with. Because the storylines were typically separate, they did not compromise the comedy usually provided by the rest of the cast.

Finally, as antithesis, there are a few shows that I feel would suffer if emotion was added: Peep Show, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia (like I mentioned earlier), and Flight of the Conchords. Maybe because Peep Show is so personal already, what with point of view monologues from the main characters, I already feel like the show covers the whole range of emotion, with comic twist. Flight of the Conchords, by contrast, simply has no relatable characters, like It's Always Sunny. It would be weird to me if Jemaine and Bret had a truly believable, sincere exchange, because the two characters are so uncomplicated. Not the right tone at all.

ETA: I didn't talk about Michael Scott!! I will edit this later and talk about Michael Scott. And David Brent in the Christmas Special. And the Extras Christmas Special.

ETA2: I clearly didn't think this through. Community breaks rules. Will edit later. Maybe.

ETA3: Yeah, actually: Spaced. I don't know what I'm talking about.

ETA4: The last ten minutes of Catterick. I don't know what to think anymore.