"Community" and Absurdity

This week, let's talk TV. Specifically, one of my current favorite shows--and one of the few that I still watch on network television--COMMUNITY!

Community wrapped up its third season this month, with much fanfare.  From the mid-season hiatus to the feud between Chevy Chase and the creator Dan Harmon, to the essential firing of Harmon by Sony from his own brainchild, the show's seen a whirlwind year so far. While the fate of the show remains up in the air, with a shortened fourth season and new showrunners, we'll focus on the Community that exists right now--which in spite of all its flaws, I love. (I'll reserve judgement on the upcoming season when it airs; Community is much more than just one person now.)

Community, for those of you who don't know, centers around a ragtag group of misfits that somehow became a study group during their first week at the fictional and outrageous Greendale Community College. While the story initially revolves around Jeff Winger, the charming but egoistic former lawyer back in school only to earn a "legitimate" degree, the show eventually branches out to explore narratives around the other characters: Britta, a left-leaning high school dropout; Annie, a neurotic overachiever; Troy, a former high school football star; Abed, a probably-autistic pop-culture encyclopedia; Shirley, born-again Christian, mother, and aspiring businesswoman; and Pierce, the crotchety old coot and scapegoat of the group. This past season was the first season I've followed since the premiere (I didn't get into it until about halfway through the second season), and as much as some fans have complained about it being too out-there this season, this season has contained some of the best, most memorable episodes of the series.

For example, "Remedial Chaos Theory," in which we explore the different scenarios that would result from a roll of the dice, and "Digital Estate Planning," which is almost entirely presented in 8-bit animation as the gang plays a video game Pierce's late father designed to determine the distribution of his estate, accomplish feats of wackiness and character development rarely seen on your average sitcom (looking at you, Two and a Half Men). Not to mention the multiple paintball wars, a pillow-vs-blanket-fort battle, and an entire episode surrounding Dungeons and Dragons. But you know what these episodes have in common?

They're, quite simply, absurd.

Absurd in a good way. In the best way. Not like the absurd inconsistencies that run rampant in long-running sitcoms, such as leafy green trees in Pennsylvania (or Wisconsin, or New York, etc) in January, or the situations that are just plain silly (i.e. "jumping the shark"), or the central characters dating exclusively within their group of friends. Not to mention the ridiculously canned laughter in multi-camera sitcoms that gets a little annoying (especially in this age of single-camera comedy and snappier dialogue).

Deliberately absurd, stretching reality in myriad ways. Presenting it, in fact, in multiple dimensions, showing, through exaggeration, how the different characters are viewing a situation--or, possibly, what can happen if the characters take an already outrageous premise to extreme heights. For example, in the episode, "Virtual Systems Analysis", Annie almost literally (or at least that's how we see it) steps into Abed's mind through the Dreamatorium--Abed and Troy's Danger Room of imaginative play. We learn a little bit more about Annie and Abed's sensibilities, they learn from each other, and it still doesn't stray too far from the hyper-realism of the sitcoms from which the show draws inspiration.

There's a nostalgic aspect to this absurdity, as well: a lot of the situations are reminiscent of older children's TV shows--that is, ones geared towards a tween/teen audience--which often present frustrating but obvious villains, outrageous adventures, and a focus on friendship. (that last point is the most salient) Ones that come to mind are Drake and Josh, Ned's Declassified, Even Stevens... even Saved By the Bell. I don't mean this as an insult at all. Perhaps it's just because it takes place at a school, unlike most adult-oriented comedies.

In fact, as a fan of a lot of (not recent) children-centric TV, I love the ridiculousness that often goes on. These shows are naturally absurd, as reality is presented in a more kid-friendly point of view: and to kids, even older ones, just about anything is possible. Of course, they often suffer from the just-world fallacy and more often than not promote positive values whilst featuring good-natured (if buffoonish) kids.  But it's like these shows, except inverting the just world and goody-two-shoes principles (making it more Seinfeldian and Arrested Development-esque), appealing to adult misfit sensibilities, and much more self-aware. So I think much of the absurdity, as well as the diversity, in Community uncovers not just good comedy, but also the idea that there is no one single perception (or reception) of reality.

Consider, for one, that more than half of the students in the group are non-traditional (at over 21), so they already have had "non-traditional" life experience. And unlike most shows, only four of the seven core characters are white, and only two characters are Christian. As a result, the core characters of Community are shown to be complex, flawed human beings with their own troperiffic quirks. I can't help but like them and want to see more of their adventures, because Community really is just like life in that way--which is, as Forrest Gump puts it, like a box of chocolates--you never know what you're gonna get.

And most of the time, it is delicious.

*If you want to get into one new comedy this summer, make it Community! Also watch it this fall!* (end fan plug)

Ellen Foster is Pretty Good

A few weeks ago I read a short novel that I had never heard of before, Ellen Foster. It made Oprah's Book club, apparently. The book also won the Sue Kaufman Prize for First Fiction in 1987, among other selections so it's passed the literary worthiness test with flying colors. And after reading it, I can see why it did win.

The story takes place in the South during an unspecified time, though one can infer that it takes place probably in the 1970s, as the 1960s are briefly referred to as occurring in the past. The story is told by an eleven-year-old girl who has just recently found a new home after spending the year after her mother's death searching for a new one. She, and her mother, suffered abuse from an alcoholic father, and the spite of her mother's family. While she deals with her mother's death and her father's wrath, she becomes close to a black girl, Starletta, and lives in several different family homes before finally settling in with her "new mama."

The basic premise is one we have seen before: abusive white-trash family, white girl learns to like "colored" people, finds new home. However, Ellen's young yet wise voice gives new insight into this common southern story, and flows in a nonlinear, stream-of-consciousness fashion. No quotation marks separate the dialogue from the narration, and grammatical mistakes left in, making the story all the more Ellen's own. The story hooks you in with the first line, as many good stories do, and considering the idiosyncratic voice, it works better as a short novel. Of course, the initial racism and prejudice against "colored people" on Ellen's part peeved me off at first, but as she is a poor southern white girl it's understandable that she was socialized that way. What wasn't explained, though, was her father's association with rowdy black men when he was racist himself--gambling buddies?

The structure of the narrative was also confusing at times--there were some points where I had to go back and reread the section because there was an abrupt change of scene without even a line break to indicate the scene change. And the lack of quotation marks is unusual, so it can be a bit hard to follow in that sense, too. But people used to reading fiction as challenging as William Faulkner's should be able to read this book just fine.With its thematic exploration of racial identity, class, and abuse, Ellen Foster fits quite well in the Southern literary canon.

In spite of my initial reservations, I found Ellen Foster to be an endearing character and an enjoyable, quick read. I'll give it 4 out of 5 stars.