Welcome to a new Sitcom Tuesday, on a Wednesday! This week, I’m starting Community (2009-2014, NBC; 2015, Yahoo!), which is currently available on DVD/Blu-Ray and streaming!
Community stars JOEL McHALE as Jeff, GILLIAN JACOBS as Britta, DANNY PUDI as Abed, YVETTE NICOLE BROWN as Shirley, ALISON BRIE as Annie, DONALD GLOVER as Troy, KEN JEONG as Chang, and CHEVY CHASE as Pierce. With JIM RASH.
Community, like the next two shows on my docket — Modern Family and The Middle — premiered in the last season of the 2000s decade. But since it largely ran during the 2010s, I’d say its arrival here on Sitcom Tuesdays officially marks this blog’s entrance into a new era of situation comedy. Oh, all right, we’ve been dabbling in the 2010s for a while now. Both The Big Bang Theory and Parks And Recreation made deep runs into the 2010s, and many of the other shows I’ve recently examined here have touched it as well. I guess you could say the 2010s have crept up on us. But that’s by design because, truthfully, the prospect of studying this decade has been daunting. With so many shows as a result of TV’s expanding media landscape, a full picture of the 2010s requires a look at many shows. And the problem with that is… well, I don’t love this era. I resent that its overarching trends have been harmful to the situation comedy art form that I cherish. That is, I believe both “situation” and “comedy” have been conceptually undermined by Peak TV and its consequential tenets. Specifically, the increasing need for binge-able, on-demand content has only accentuated narrative serialization, forcing higher emotional stakes within storytelling while naturally emphasizing dramatic ideas, and in turn minimizing comedic ones. Also, with TV becoming a medium of prestige (the new cinema), everything has simply become more serious. More serious-looking, more serious-sounding, more serious within the culture. And this whole milieu is less intrinsically hospitable to comedy.
As for the “situation,” let me explain. That term describes all the fixed elements viewers can expect of a sitcom: its characters, premise, humor, etc. It also refers to this genre’s very identity as an iterative type of storytelling, where a series’ worth of narrative ideas – not to mention laughs – is generated based on these regular attributes. By that definition, a great sitcom not only has a strong situation thanks to well-defined elements, but also helpful ones. And helpfulness only becomes evident through repetition, or practice. The more reliable a sitcom becomes at reiterating itself, the stronger expectations become with its elements, and the more satisfying it becomes when those expectations are met or exceeded. Indeed, sitcoms are built on reliability, and that requires consistency. The 2010s made all this more difficult to achieve. With fewer episodes per season on average for new shows, that’s meant fewer chances for new sitcoms to prove, or refine into, greatness from consistency. What’s more, with serialized storytelling also taking more of the burden off weekly self-iteration, the situations within comedies also weakened, as their elements were less relied upon to generate the same number of narrative ideas, further undermining, throughout the medium, the sitcom as a durable, reliable art form. For if situations now matter less — meaning, shows no longer have to craft and curate elements that are as well-defined and helpful on a long-term basis — then sitcoms will be less often excellent on the terms unique to this genre. The result? Fewer great sitcoms.
Of course, I’m speaking generally. Those overarching anti-sitcom trends mostly came from cable and streaming, and while the veneration of their prestigious efforts by the media and this industry certainly forced their influence to trickle down to the broadcast networks, said networks have tried to hold the line. In spite of increasing disregard by popular tastemakers, they’ve had some success — especially going into the 2010s (before Peak TV exploded via streaming), when network sitcoms were thriving. Well, I say “thriving” in that there were a lot of them. Both good and bad. Only, not bad in the aforementioned sense, where the genre and its core tenets have been subverted, but in the more traditional way, where a sitcom is weak mainly because it has naturally weak elements in its situation and/or doesn’t use them well. The “bad” here wasn’t necessarily worse than any other era’s subpar fare, and proportionally, every era tends to have a similar makeup. It’s just that the sheer number of bad shows on TV was rising as TV itself was rising. And they were ultimately persuasive in a negative direction – helping sexier shows on non-traditional platforms earn increasing accolades by comparison. But, again, I’m speaking with a broad brush that’s difficult to apply to any one sitcom that I’ll be featuring, for the sheer number of shows that came out of this decade makes it impossible for one to represent the whole. At best, they each represent a niche. And I’m looking at the good ones. Like Community. It’s one of those critically well-regarded but not chart-topping entries from NBC’s “Comedy Night Done Right” lineup, which featured many titles but is best remembered for a handful of funny ensemble workplace/hangout single cams with posthumously loud cult fanbases: The Office, 30 Rock, Parks And Recreation, and Community. I, like many, associate this show with those other three (its school setting is closer to a workplace than a home, so it’s kin) and I consider them – in reflection of a particular type of sitcommery offered by NBC in the late 2000s and early 2010s – to be the 21st century’s apex of original situation comedy thus far.
Let me digress for a flashback. The 2000s is a weird decade because its first half is dominated by many slowly dying but long-running multi-cams that premiered during the 1990s and either peaked there or at the very top of the aughts. There weren’t a lot of great new entries early on, leading to a bit of an identity crisis for the sitcom that then gave rise to single cams in the 2000s’ latter half, when gems like The Office and 30 Rock started to appear. As usual, it’s always best to look to a middle year, with its mix of old and new, for an encapsulating look at the decade as a whole. (2005-2006 is ideal for that objective, for it’s bountiful.) But I think 2009-2010, when the 2000s’ own creations were going strong, is the decade at a personal best. That season introduced a lot of shows that would help the early part of the 2010s stand as the most fertile terrain for 21st century sitcommery. (That’s 2009-2013 in particular, with 2009-2010 and 2010-2011 likely the highlight of their respective decades). And not just courtesy of NBC, where late 2000s stalwarts 30 Rock and The Office were joined by the refining Parks And Rec and the interesting Community, but also on ABC, where newbies like The Middle and Modern Family brought single-cam modernity to traditional constructs (like family/domestic premises), creating a recipe for that network to follow over the next few years. Meanwhile, on CBS, Big Bang was at the height of its own creative sublimity, giving that network compelling permission to continue its commitment to comfortable multi-cams throughout the 2010s. So, all three went into the Peak TV decade with strong shows and a clear direction. And even FOX followed suit with several of its own underrated gems over the next few years (like Raising Hope and New Girl).
However, the early 2010s became the mid-2010s. The Office and 30 Rock ended in 2013, many of 2009’s promising newbies lost their shine, and a new pack of network laffers – Mom, Brooklyn Nine-Nine, Black-ish, Superstore – debuted around the decade’s midpoint. They were standouts in a crowded but less exciting field. The Peak TV era was, by now, raging across the industry and network comedies were no longer hot to the media or its tastemakers. The world had changed, and fast. Here’s an illustration: in 2011, all six of the TV Academy’s Outstanding Comedy Series nominees were from broadcast networks. By 2015, that had been reduced to two out of seven. Since 2018, it’s only been one per year. I point out that trivia to emphasize the rise of those alternative platforms, which naturally led to their increased influence within the genre. The consequences have been as described above, and this capped how many great sitcoms there were, proportionally (and even totally), after the decade’s middle. You may find 30 episodes of something cool here, 20 episodes of something funny there. But fewer shows with the consistency that evokes the rare excellence of reliable sitcoms like The Office or 30 Rock or Parks And Rec, or even Community… which brings me back to the subject of this post. I’m covering this show because it’s part of that early 2010s era where sitcoms were thriving. And after having already looked at its major NBC neighbors, it felt necessary to complete the quadfecta, especially because I consider Community — which made it to 2015, concluding its run on a streaming platform — a critically interesting reflection of a few key trends associated with the 2010s.
For starters, it’s a show that prides itself on its cleverness, with winking references to other pieces of media and a heightened sense of metatheatricality that further indicates self-awareness, i.e. smarts, to a knowingly niche audience increasingly educated about the genre. We’ve seen a lot of this in the 21st century. As TV became more serious, comedies that wanted to be taken seriously courted more serious audiences as well – ones who would appreciate communicated intelligence. And make no mistake, over the course of the first season, metatheatricality (self-awareness) becomes Community’s calling card — the thing that makes it special — for it’s so pronounced within the storytelling that it effectively enables the show to stand out within this crowded landscape. Not only do the characters playfully acknowledge the fact that they’re on a show – particularly the culture-obsessed Abed, whom I’ll discuss more in a moment — but there are also many elaborate parodies of other shows, genres, and mediums. We’re talking whole episodes that, say, pay homage to Star Wars or Westerns, or exist in the style of vintage video games. This is media self-referentialism, for even when the gag extends beyond the self (that is, when the show isn’t explicitly citing its own bounds as a TV show), Community is nevertheless still a piece of media acknowledging other media. It’s therefore meta in a similar way – a wink about culture inside a piece of culture. And deliberately so, given how fixated the show is on what it means to be, well, another piece of media.
All together, these interests contribute to an overwhelmingly post-modern sense of metatheatricality – one that eclipses the Hollywood spoofs seen on Larry Sanders or even Curb Your Enthusiasm, whose situations call for self-awareness because it’s demanded by their own premised particulars. And it’s definitely not the meta seen on its neighboring 30 Rock, which plants its “TV about TV” comedy inside an ever-reliable backstage premise that’s reinforced by some semi-autobiographical truth regarding Tina Fey’s own history on SNL. No, on Community, there’s no formal premised permission, and the meta sensibility must just be accepted as a stylistic affect. Community is metatheatrical just because it decides to be. And why not? It’s playing to an audience in the social media age, to viewers who have consumed so much media that they cannot engage with any one work without instinctively considering others. This is an elevation from the trendy pop-culture-literate comedy of the 2000s, reaching new and even more frenzied heights in the blossoming Peak TV decade. Where there was so much media that acknowledging how much media there was became its own form of intellectual and emotional connection. Community capitalizes on this awareness — it’s media in the age of media.
But here’s the deal. In a sitcom, meta for meta’s sake is not exciting to me, especially when so much comic value or narrative energy is being directed towards references that are outside the bounds of a situation. As you know, I love situation comedy. I respect how difficult it is to build and maintain elements of a situation that are well-defined and fruitful enough to also inspire and enliven a series’ worth of motivated comic stories, exhibited and refined through grueling repetition. To me, that’s more impressive than a series of sketch-like parodies or jokes based on external topical references – things that don’t require a situation and thus don’t hinge on the charms of this particular genre, which, again, I cherish. For that reason, I sometimes struggle with Community, which counts parodic meta humor – and storytelling – as its raison d’être. This is anti-sitcom behavior, and it’s unlike, for example, those other “Comedy Night Done Right” classics, which either push tangible elements of their situations to the fore — predicating regular comedic value more exclusively on them — or root their meta more explicitly inside tangibly premised elements that also motivate anticipated plot. Specifically, The Office narratively centers its characters and their relationships inside the faux-doc lens that enables its foundational meta, thereby requiring them. And 30 Rock, I reiterate, reflects its known SNL pedigree when it acts like the sketch show where it’s set, reinforcing its own identity via premised trappings.
And yet, I also want to be fair to Community. I understand the timely appeal of this meta. Even better, I can actually mount a compelling argument for the show’s use of it as a credit to its sitcom bona fides. For one, its application of metatheatricality as a regular thematic conceit is repeated enough by the end of the first season to warrant affiliation with the rest of the series’ situation. It’s a sensibility around which expectations, and series-defining expectations, are then formed. As such, one could argue that the show is genuinely reiterating its identity when it goes out of its way to spoof or acknowledge other works, for that’s what it’s decided to routinize inside its storytelling. Additionally, there are many times – and perhaps more often than not – when I see Community’s exploration of metatheatricality also being justified through other more tangible elements of its situation. Or, at least a tangible element of its situation. Namely, Abed. By defining him as an obsessive encyclopedia of pop culture knowledge, particularly TV (ahem, can you imagine such a person?), he is able to make a topical reference that winks about the show’s own bounds as a show and have it simultaneously be a reflection of his character. This ties a core part of the series’ comic ethos to a classically fundamental element of its situation, a regular character. And that right there is textbook situation comedy.
There’s a spectrum when it comes to this though. The show is sometimes artful about tying its meta to his characterization, and sometimes not. What’s more, it’s always better when meta is used to not just affirm the series’ comic reputation, but for a narrative exploration of the situation via the characters. Take the series’ most well-known half hour, “Remedial Chaos Theory,” which deploys a high-concept framing device to present different sides of the regulars and their relationships. That’s the show’s ideal (I’ll talk more about it in a few weeks), because it isn’t just meta for meta. It’s meta for the benefit of everything else within the situation. In contrast, there are many high-concept outings that front-load parodic humor and therefore look gratuitous, struggling to create internal value — often doing so ham-fistedly or too slightly to feel like earned or valuable situation comedy. (There’ll be examples of this ahead too.) Meanwhile, another thing to keep in mind is that this sitcom’s capacity to offer great high-concept media-about-media parody diminishes over time – in accordance with its own novelty, as the font of fresh ideas simply dries, and the actual premise, of these characters existing in a study group at a community college, also strains to sustain them. Just as in most series, we’ll see that the projection of Community’s situation refines and then tires. In fact, despite its sexy cleverness, Community’s trajectory is pretty traditional. After a first season that needs about three-quarters to lock into “meta” as the primary thematic intention, Season Two takes off, offering the most imaginative excuses to evoke the series’ new comic identity, and with the best-ever support from the characters, who are defined but still novel enough themselves.
We’ll obviously talk more about future seasons later. But I again want to emphasize that, for as much as I may not salute the central element of Community’s cultivated identity and appeal, I simultaneously believe this show has many attributes that render it worthy of my critical gaze. Beyond the meta, this series is interesting because its characters are all well-defined in comic relation, and they exist within stories that, for the genre at this time, are creatively inspired and one-of-a-kind. That’s a feat in this Peak TV decade. Now, don’t get me wrong; as always, some regulars are more helpful than others. For instance, even though they are all comedically distinct, Annie and Britta present more narrative possibilities than Shirley, largely because the first two have stronger relationships within the cast and are contextualized more individually inside the school setting. Also, I can’t pretend that, say, Troy, as a character, is more precise or better explored than the anchoring Jeff (a perfectly cast Joel McHale), whose multi-dimensionality as an egocentric jerk who can’t fight his own self-betterment is, next to Abed’s meta-enabling usefulness, probably the show’s finest work. But, overall, with both characters and ideas – not to mention casting (Chevy Chase, though often sidelined, is an asset, giving the show comic prestige) — I think this sitcom is foundationally well-made. Like The Office, 30 Rock, and of course, Parks And Rec, there’s a traditional sitcom underneath it all.
This is to the credit of creator and showrunner Dan Harmon. Oh, yes, it’s true — I am not exactly in the cult of Community. Just as I’m not in the cult of Seinfeld or Friends or The Office. You know, shows with loud fandoms who act as if the sitcom begins and/or ends with that particular title as its most seminal work. (I don’t even think that’s true of I Love Lucy or Dick Van Dyke or Mary Tyler Moore!) So, I don’t worship Harmon as a genius who was too good for network TV and its constraints, for I don’t place more value in the ways Community is out-of-the-box than I do in the ways that Community is a reliable, consistent guarantor of situation comedy. While others are praising his clever meta that I often find gimmicky, or touting his patented storytelling template that I consider to be just a souped-up version of something simpler and self-evident, it’s his recognition of the comedy in different types of people that makes his writing so engaging to me. Character. That’s what’s most worth praising here in terms of situation comedy. And though I’d still say The Office, Parks And Rec, and 30 Rock are better on that front – mainly due to how their leads are more front and center as primary value-adding elements – I’d like to also celebrate Community for its character work and how that manifests within comedic ideas whose sheer individuality are also a credit to Harmon and his writing.
Additionally, I’m also interested in Harmon as an example of another 2010s trend: the increasing spotlight given to TV writers as mastermind creatives. There have certainly been key figures throughout sitcom history who’ve gotten rarified recognition – increasing every decade since the 1970s (Norman Lear perhaps being this genre’s best known 20th century figure). But in the 2000s, with Larry David and Tina Fey literally putting themselves on screen as comedy scribes who also were the guiding voices for their own series, more attention started to be paid to showrunners as auteurs. Harmon, like Mike Schur, Bill Lawrence, and Chuck Lorre, became part of their series’ identities, for better and for worse. I’ll touch more on this in a few weeks, but I point this out now to remind that Community is very much crafted in Harmon’s vision, and our awareness of that fact also influences its trajectory and our perception of its trajectory. It’s all very meta – just like Community. Or, like Community grows to be throughout this formative first season, which develops the leads and is full of fun ideas, but does take a bit to work up to its earned reputation for comedic abandon, largely stemming from metatheatrical genre parodies and media-about-media lampoons. While always a sitcom renowned for its clever writing, I care less when it’s clever and more when it’s funny. And more importantly, when it bucks against overarching 2010s attitudes and is simply proud to be a sitcom. For just like Abed, I love the situation comedy. And even though its principles may be sometimes gratuitously undermined here, like in the decade overall, Community is a good sitcom. A highlight of the early 2010s, and a reason that I maybe shouldn’t be so scared about diving into this era. There’s a lot to like.
01) Episode 7: “Introduction To Statistics” (Aired: 10/29/09)
Jeff prioritizes his romantic pursuit of a professor over commitments to the study group.
Written by Tim Hobert & Jon Pollack | Directed by Justin Lin
The first few episodes of Community are effective at introducing the characters and establishing the general tenor of the show. But, like all situation comedy, it naturally improves with practice. For instance, the series’ trademark metatheatricality and its accordant media-on-media parody doesn’t become a regular part of the situation until the last quarter of this freshman year. I feature this early entry, however, because it’s a step in the right direction, for Abed’s Batman costume encourages specific allusions that typify what we’ll see ahead. To that point, I also like the depiction of Jeff here as a self-centered jerk who’d easily leave his friend’s party to go hit on a professor. The show is starting to lock into his characterization with stories that explore his ego-centric failings, and corresponding efforts to evolve him will make for some of this series’ best and most rewarding sitcommery in its first three (and best) seasons.
02) Episode 9: “Debate 109” (Aired: 11/12/09)
Jeff joins Annie in a debate competition as Abed’s student films prove prescient.
Written by Tim Hobert | Directed by Joe Russo
Easily the best offering from the first half of Community’s first season, “Debate 109” is another two-pronged victory for the series’ slow practice of self. In terms of metatheatrical humor, its subplot where Abed makes short films about his peers that turn out to be prophetic is precisely the sort of self-aware comedy that will soon come to define this show en masse. And as for the characters, this A-story is another terrific exploration of Jeff, who’s tasked with assisting Annie in a debate competition — the subject being whether man is inherently good or inherently evil. It’s a sublime narrative setup, not only because of how it calls upon Jeff’s established history as a lawyer, but also because the topic speaks to Jeff’s cynicism, which stems from his lack of empathy for others — something he naturally assumes applies to others as well. Additionally, he’s paired with Annie, whose overeager and wide-eyed enthusiasm emphasizes Jeff’s personality by contrast — a fact from which this installment benefits, as the show starts teasing the possibility of their romance while uncovering a reliable way to develop them both.
03) Episode 12: “Comparative Religion” (Aired: 12/10/09)
Shirley proves zealous when planning a Christmas party while Jeff deals with a bully.
Written by Liz Cackowski | Directed by Adam Davidson
The appeal of Season One’s Christmas excursion is a little overinflated like most holiday entries — such basic thematic underpinnings give stories extra expectations on which to grip, even beyond the terms of the situation. But I genuinely enjoy this half hour as one of the year’s best showcases for the ensemble, as their camaraderie continues to improve with time and practice, not to mention scripts like this, which call attention to the differences that make them such a random group of misfits. That is, every regular is so distinct relative to each other — a comic diversity highlighted here, as their religious backgrounds are used to reiterate that their choice to maintain coexistence in a study group can thus only be a sign of friendship, corroborating the emotional bonds necessary to hold together this situation and justify its continued self-existence in the first place. In that regard, this is a self-validating outing. And with a climactic group fight scene — the kind of centerpiece that all sitcoms enjoy — it’s a lot of fun.
04) Episode 15: “Romantic Expressionism” (Aired: 02/04/10)
Jeff and Britta scheme to break up Annie and her new boyfriend.
Written by Andrew Guest | Directed by Joe Russo
This is another episode that makes strides with both character and comedy. First, there’s an affable subplot about Pierce hiring writers to come up with jokes so that he can impress his friends when they watch old, terrible movies. It’s very meta — a story about finding ways to be funny while commenting on other works of media — and, again, that feels like the kind of self-awareness Community will soon make explicit in its projection of self, as media about media. Meanwhile, the A-story offers more rewards for character, as Jeff and Britta — united in jealousy — team up to split Annie from her new boyfriend. I like scripts that pair Jeff and Britta because, while Annie draws him out by contrasts, Britta affirms his depiction because they’re both incredibly self-serving (see: her performative activism) and therefore alike, fueling each other’s egos. A setup like this, which allows us to consider how Jeff relates to both Annie and Britta, really centralizes his depiction, strengthening them all in the process.
05) Episode 16: “Communication Studies” (Aired: 02/11/10)
After a drunken night with Abed, Jeff regrets leaving several voicemails.
Written by Chris McKenna | Directed by Adam Davidson
More and more, things are falling into place for Community, and this entry feels like another leveling up, thanks to the extended pairing of Jeff and Abed. Jeff is the show’s main character and primary emotional access point, and Abed is the ambassador for its comic ethos, which is continuing to find inspiration inside his infectious habit of referencing other media, thus opening up the show to self-awareness, or metatheatricality. To wit, the main thing separating the start of Community’s freshman year from its end is the number of citations, explicitly or implicitly, to other works, and I point that out here because this installment really ratchets up its cultural gaze. As for the story, it also progresses Jeff’s seasonal arc, a romantic triangle with Britta and Professor Slater (Lauren Stamile), the latter being too bland to elevate this drama in a meaningful way. However, Jeff and Britta bring laughs, while the strengthening ensemble dynamics enliven the proceedings, increasing Community’s personalization.
06) Episode 17: “Physical Education” (Aired: 03/04/10)
The group tries to help Abed flirt with a girl while Jeff faces off against a professor.
Written by Jessie Miller | Directed by Anthony Russo
This is the best showcase for character from Community’s entire first season, and if this was a sitcom where that was the main and most front-facing metric by which it wanted to earn its established brand of situation-backed comedy, I would select this as my MVE (Most Valuable Episode). However, as we know, there are other elements of the situation that this show opts to prioritize as more special, and when honoring the samples that indicate when it’s being the best version of itself, I must prioritize those elements as well. Nevertheless, I do maintain that there’s no better story for Jeff than this — where he signs up for a billiards class with a professor who challenges him right where he lives: his ego. In fact, the whole debate about wearing tight, embarrassing shorts is just comic dressing for an otherwise straightforward conflict about Jeff’s reluctance to be vulnerable. That’s never clearer than here, and in an imaginative plot that’s a credit to Dan Harmon’s Community and its capacity for unique situation comedy. (Similarly, the subplot with Abed is a fine showcase for his character, as he displays a self-awareness about himself that mirrors the self-awareness he allows the show to possess.) A gem.
07) Episode 19: “Beginner Pottery” (Aired: 03/18/10)
Jeff turns competitive in a pottery class.
Written by Hilary Winston | Directed by Anthony Russo
Season One continues to ratchet up its self-awareness in this enjoyable outing that makes deliberate reference to Ghost for a story that’s nevertheless wonderfully character-centric, as Jeff’s ego turns into overdrive when he attempts to prove that another student is a “ringer” — someone who’s not actually a beginner at pottery, as per the title of the class (taught, incidentally, by Tony Hale, of Arrested Development and later Veep). It’s a comedic idea that uses the show’s school setting and explores the main character while also evidencing the most important element of its situation — its developing sense of humor, and particularly, its media-on-media metatheatricality. To that point, there’s even more of that in the subplot, where the group takes a boating class (taught by an admiral played by Lee Majors) — a setup that offers plenty of parodic physical comedy, and with welcome support from the characters and their ensemble dynamics. As such, this is Community inching ever closer to its peak era…
08) Episode 21: “Contemporary American Poultry” (Aired: 04/22/10)
Jeff regrets instilling Abed as a new fry cook in the cafeteria.
Written by Emily Cutler & Karey Dornetto | Directed by Tristram Shapeero
By this point, Community seems to understand that constant references to other media can in turn call attention to its own bounds as a piece of produced media. That’s intentional. The more that it can draw upon those allusions in/for comic centerpieces, the more it knows it’s communicating a sense of intelligence that’s individualizing enough to be distinguished. “Contemporary American Poultry” is when that sensibility starts to become part of the series’ actual situation, for viewers can now form expectations around the show’s intentions to be meta with media-about-media humor as a foundational reflection of self. This installment turns a clever plot, about Jeff scheming to ensure that he and his study group get priority access to the cafeteria’s chicken tenders, into a lampoon of Goodfellas and other mob-related films, for Abed, as the new fry cook, amasses power like a crime boss, enabling the show’s central reference-spouting character to anchor a story that is itself one big genre parody. It is exactly the type of fare for which Community is known, and this is the first excellent example of it — revealing that the series has finally evolved into its definitive form. And, as with the peak era of Season Two, the show is still fresh enough to have this not only play as novel and exciting, but purposeful for the characters in a way that’s creditable by me as worthwhile situation comedy.
09) Episode 23: “Modern Warfare” (Aired: 05/06/10)
A friendly game of paintball on campus turns competitive.
Written by Emily Cutler | Directed by Justin Lin
My choice for this season’s Most Valuable Episode (MVE), “Modern Warfare” is one of Community’s best-remembered offerings — a sample in evidence of its excellence with regard to smart, funny, self-aware genre lampooning, and its total commitment to that style of humor as a key part of its identity, perhaps above all else. Although “Contemporary American Poultry” (above) already proved the same point by being a full-blown homage to mob movies, that story was still rooted in enough of the show’s regular premise to seem like a natural outgrowth of it. Here, in order to get to the level of extreme parody desired — with so, so many references to action movies and tropes (almost every gag is an allusion to something) — the show has to transcend itself and submit to the fact that it’s more a vessel for cultural satire than anything, including the other primary aspects of its situation, which are now merely tools for the same. Oh, don’t get me wrong — the leads’ depictions are still invoked as supportive elements, and indeed, the show is careful not to break or injure them to force a comedic objective. Also, this plot deliberately progresses Jeff’s romantic arc by climaxing his sexual tension with Britta — meaning, the action tropes are consciously used to support overarching character objectives as well (which is why I can genuinely argue in favor of it being a worthy MVE, both for the show and for what I love: situation comedy). But what’s being delivered is much closer to the sort of idea-driven, sketch-like comedy from which the sitcom partially evolved long ago, as it’s less exclusively predicated on the art form’s typical use of internally created elements (like characters) to satisfy this narratively iterative form’s needs and thus emphasize its unique appeal. For instance, the value of this entry doesn’t reside in how the characters are utilized — it’s how every single joke is a clever, winking allusion. It’s media about media in the age of so much media that media itself can’t ignore just how much media there is. And that’s the show. By now, this has become the principal aspect of Community’s identity — and therefore its situation — so exploring it does feel like an exploration of self, even if it’s simultaneously undermining the notion of the sitcom being an artistic medium with its own inherent value.
10) Episode 25: “Pascal’s Triangle Revisited” (Aired: 05/20/10)
Jeff finds himself torn between Britta and Professor Slater during the Transfer Dance.
Written by Hilary Winston | Directed by Joe Russo
Season One’s finale is a plot-oriented outing that I wasn’t sure I wanted to feature, for it’s not as individually impressive as much of what’s already been highlighted. However, everything from the last quarter of the year displays an elevated understanding of self — tonally, narratively, and of course with regard to character — that simply puts these showings on a higher plane. What’s more, this finale is an interesting reflection of something else I haven’t discussed yet: how the show in Season One actually conforms to its niche as an early 2010s NBC single cam. Specifically, it creates cliffhanger concerns around the romantic pursuits of its main character, whose emotional evolution is not merely a big arc, but directly attached to his ability to form healthy interpersonal connections. It’s the same general focus of The Office, Parks And Rec, and even 30 Rock. It’s also the primary dramatic engine of non-family comedies in the 21st century, and Community, for as much as it wants to engage in genre deconstructions by pointing out tropes, is proving here that it’s also willing to adhere to them in ways that are traditional. Well, at least here in Season One, where this is a real part of its identity as well. Going into Season Two, it’ll be fun to see how the show continues to congeal into the best version of itself.
Other notable episodes that merit mention include: “The Science Of Illusion,” which has an amusing and character-exploring Britta A-story and a comedy-forward subplot for Shirley and Annie, and “Environmental Science,” which pairs Jeff with Ken Jeong’s hilarious Señor Chang and boasts some media-about-media comedy in its subplot. I’ll also take this space to cite “Introduction To Film,” for its formative tone and development of Abed, and “Investigative Journalism,” for its focus on Jeff and its self-conscious references to M*A*S*H — a more gingerly example of the satire that’s soon to become more emboldened.
*** The MVE Award for the Best Episode from Season One of Community goes to…
“Modern Warfare”
Come back next week for Season Two and a new Wildcard!