"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)