Welcome to a new Sitcom Tuesday! This week, I’m starting coverage on Parks And Recreation (2009-2015, NBC), which is currently available on DVD/Blu-Ray and streaming.

Parks And Recreation stars AMY POEHLER as Leslie Knope, RASHIDA JONES as Ann Perkins, PAUL SCHNEIDER as Mark Brendanawicz, AZIZ ANSARI as Tom Haverford, NICK OFFERMAN as Ron Swanson, AUBREY PLAZA as April Ludgate, and CHRIS PRATT as Andy Dwyer. With JIM O’HEIR and RETTA.

Parks And Recreation is the premier example of the ensemble workplace comedy of the 2010s, descending from the same stock as The Office and 30 Rock, but veering away from their sexy mid-2000s idea-led metatheatrical conceptual gimmicks (like The Office’s mockumentary construct and 30 Rock’s showbiz-about-showbiz SNL tone) to establish a more casual and sustainable single-cam version of a familiar sitcom subgenre, with a feel-good sensibility that, even more than its comedy, indicates the ethos that this entire genre, overall, will reflect in the second decade of the 21st century. That is, as cable and streaming were steering the entire medium into more self-serious waters, all that was needed to be considered an alternative to “drama” wasn’t necessarily hilarity, just relative lightness. And indeed, Parks And Rec is always a light, feel-good show, with a traditionalism that gives it a classic sitcom trajectory – a few seasons are needed to refine itself, then there’s a pretty decent stretch of consistent excellence, followed by an obvious cool down that’s nevertheless not terrible. And the fact that it’s well-designed, and also very funny (yay!) in addition to warm and light, has allowed it to become a modern gem – the 2010s’ finest ambassador for the workplace sitcom. I was eager to cover it here, alongside both The Office and 30 Rock, because they’re all kin – not only were they neighbors within NBC’s Thursday night comedy block at the end of the 2000s and beginning of the 2010s, but they’re also all among the best ensemble work-centered comedies of the 21st century – which makes them particularly easy to compare. What’s more, they’re aesthetically related too, with notable Saturday Night Live ties that further suggest a trend we discussed recently with 30 Rock – the fuller adoption of idea-driven sketch comedy attitudes in 2000s sitcoms, especially via alums from the only remaining comedy-variety show of note, SNL. For Parks And Rec, these ties are strong – and familiar. For one, its star, Amy Poehler, was a big talent at SNL, even sharing the Weekend Update desk for several years with 30 Rock’s future star and fellow scribe, Tina Fey (who, like Poehler, had also studied at Second City in Chicago). So, right off the bat – there are clear SNL affiliations at the very top of Parks And Rec, just like on 30 Rock.

But these SNL roots run even deeper, for Parks And Rec was created by two Office guys who both had written for Saturday Night Live as well – Greg Daniels (he adapted The Office from its British predecessor and served as its showrunner) and Michael Schur, who shepherded Parks And Rec (and then would go on to helm Brooklyn Nine-Nine and The Good Place). That means, just like The Office (and 30 Rock), Parks And Rec was also being led by writers who had clear affiliations with SNL. And yet, of all three, Parks And Rec is the one that I think feels least like that comedy-variety show, for it’s not written in a style that intends to evoke SNL – as 30 Rock often was – and despite opening with a mockumentary look reminiscent of the comedic context applied foundationally to The Office (rendering it sketch-like as a matter of idea-driven focus), it quickly drops any pretense that the characters are conscious of being filmed. All that remains of the mockumentary conceit by late Season Two is the use of character confessionals and the basic visual grammar of reality TV-esque handheld fluidity – essentially, what Modern Family also utilized upon its debut later in 2009, benefiting from the contemporariness still suggested by this non-traditional setup but without any of the formal metatheatrics as they’re applied on The Office in how its characters behave and stories are told – with the cameras (and the “edit”) part of the situation. No, in Parks And Rec, the cameras stop being part of the situation early on – and that means, there’s less meta humor and no overarching high-concept. It’s just these leads in this premise… a more traditional and, as I said, casual understanding of how an ensemble workplace comedy should be, maintaining the general aesthetic of single-cams but moving beyond the deliberate rebellion of The Office (and tonally, 30 Rock), which needed to be bolder in their “newness” to sell themselves in a mid-2000s landscape tiring of formula. Obviously, not all single-cam sitcoms going forward (or, more specifically, non-multi-cams) would choose to affiliate themselves with the reality TV/mockumentary genre, and certainly fewer would keep the confessional device, but in the early 2010s, this was now a mainstream option.

For Parks And Rec, I’m so glad it dropped the mockumentary hook as a key aspect of its situation, for the show already had so many deserved reasons to be compared to The Office; stealing the latter’s basic gimmick would have doomed this series to stay forever in its shadow. And indeed, critics of Parks And Rec’s brief six-episode first season couldn’t help but analogize the two – it was another ensemble workplace comedy on NBC Thursdays written by two Office vets (who initially developed this series with the possibility that it’d be a spin-off: the public sector Office) with a goofy, quirky lead getting followed by cameras. Naturally, this brand-new sitcom wasn’t going to stack up favorably against a bona fide smash that was a well-oiled machine by 2008-2009. Even today, the common wisdom among Parks And Rec fans – even hardcore devotees – is that the first season is weak and maybe even skippable. Personally, I think it’s a rough but smart collection, for you can see the show slowly understand how it might cultivate its own identity, working out a few kinks that will, heck, not fully be resolved until the last third of Season Two but at least are already being identified right away. And even setting aside The Office, I don’t find this first season to be bad – just tentative, slightly derivative, and perhaps most importantly, not like what we’ll remember the series for being as a whole. That last point is instructive; building this show to also include the mockumentary conceit encourages and almost insists upon having the same sense of humor as The Office, and therefore characters who could fulfill the same function that, specifically, Steve Carell’s Michael does on The Office: he brings the cringe. That is, in making this show look like The Office, Parks And Rec was also positioning itself for a lead – in this case, Amy Poehler’s Leslie Knope – who could be cringey. And that’s what she is in a lot of Season One – the Michael Scott of Parks And Rec, cementing further comparisons that did this freshman no favors. To wit, a huge part of the show’s redevelopment in Two, accompanying a recontextualization of its mockumentary framing – removing the cameras from the situation – also involves redeveloping Leslie.

Instead of having her be someone, like Michael, who makes the audience cringe – someone with a warped self-awareness, who has such a different perception of herself and the world that it’s discomforting – the show wisely decides over the course of its first two seasons (but with most of the shift done in early Two) to align her perspective with the show’s. Leslie’s sunny optimism, rooted in her conviction that government is there to help, and that she can use her position valiantly for the benefit of her community, slowly becomes something Parks And Rec opts not to mock or use to humiliate her. Instead, her beliefs are considered largely noble and, for the most part, appreciated by the other leads. And, as early episodes come to decide, she’s not an incompetent nincompoop who’s ineffectively posturing for the cameras either. No, she just is, by the show via its depiction of her in her surroundings, a sincere, good person. Oh, yes, sometimes her cheeriness may be a little naïve, and it often comes into conflict both with the system and those who are skeptical of the system – like the public, and her direct ideological opposite within the main ensemble, Ron Swanson (Nick Offerman), who works in government but believes in fundamentally limiting its power and scope – which means she’s still a comic character with heightened traits that can be poised for laughs. But she’s not the butt of the joke for her perspective or her basic personality. So, we’re not going to be watching her be uncomfortable, or make other people uncomfortable, because of an incongruity between the world and how she sees it. This tweak means that Parks And Rec pivots away from cringe comedy – the unique type of humor often accentuated by a mockumentary framing, which as we discussed with The Office, calls attention to different layers of self-awareness (or lack thereof) for its subjects — for with the cameras soon faded out from Parks And Rec’s situation, so too is the implied comedic view of her character related to discrepancies in how she wants to “present” herself and how she actually appears. Now, we can just focus instead on who she is and how she behaves – like we would any character in a traditionally framed sitcom, without that extra idea-driven layer of cringe-inducing faux-documentary meta applied on top.

That’s the biggest distinction that emerges between Parks And Rec and The Office – the mockumentary look remains, but it’s totally removed from the actual situation, steered out by a character who goes from being cringey like Michael Scott to merely quirky, earning laughs based on what we know of her, without the foundational lens of mismatched self-awareness. And with her perspective well-defined and essentially validated, the rest of the show orients itself inside her temperament, with Leslie’s personal optimism and belief in the government’s capacity to do good connecting with each of the regulars in a different way, ultimately emerging as a general belief espoused by the show itself. Veep this is not – no cynical look at phony self-serving bureaucrats here – for this is just as feel-good as Leslie Knope is, adopting her attitudes as an overarching style, in the same way many of the classic MTM shows, and MTM-descended shows, owe their comedic identities to the personal ethos of their star characters (the most notable being Frasier). I, naturally, love this and consider it to be an alignment of character and tone that helps embed the former even further into the situation, making this entire sitcom a tribute to its lead – Leslie Knope, who steps into her fully evolved form during Season Two. As for the feel-good tone, that’s a shift I associate with the sitcom genre in the 2010s, for simply being light and warm was starting to be enough of a contrast for viewers just seeking content opposed to the era’s progressively darker and more narratively complex prestige dramas on cable and streaming. Parks And Rec is a quintessentially happy show (like a lot of Michael Schur’s work), evidencing a sensibility where humor, though still important and pronounced, matters as much as sheer affability. And without The Office’s mockumentary-accentuated meta cringe and 30 Rock’s situationally-demanded SNL joke-writing, Parks And Rec’s calling card is, I’d say, its amiable warmth – a “vibe” that’s proved to be much more replicatable and thus influential in the genre going forward. And, here, it all stems, smartly, from Leslie.

The other big difference between this show and The Office is that The Office has a deliberately generic workplace – the work itself doesn’t matter. On Parks And Rec, as on 30 Rock, the workplace is a key inspirer of narrative ideas – not about TV sketch comedy this time, but local government. That’s the most high-concept, or rather, most premise-specific aspect of this series: these people are involved or affiliated somehow with small-town local government, primarily the Parks and Recreation department. This gives story – throughout the run – a basic subject that can help induce episodic plots where, theoretically, the main characters can then shine in relation. And that actually proves to be a boon, for this series eschews clichéd showbiz-about-showbiz fare (which was so ubiquitous) while still, like 30 Rock, boasting more situationally warranted narrative support than The Office, thereby also allowing its leads to go more places and do more things, without feeling like a betrayal of the premise. Specifically, arcs involving government projects fuel both short and long-term plot – while Leslie’s political ambitions in the latter half of the run keep the show in familiar territory, only with more room for the kind of topical satire that the series otherwise chose to forsake when dropping its mockumentary-based cringe in Season One (when Leslie herself started as a satirized figure of local government, before the show got more earnest). That’s also one of the reasons that Season Two deemphasizes its initial story engine of Leslie trying to fill a ditch and build a park on top, for that was designed as a comic example of the government’s, and Leslie’s, inefficiency (or at least, the difficulties within the process). And when that no longer became the series’ perspective, Lot 48’s role within the situation shifted, standing more singularly as a reminder of Leslie’s commitment to the public, personified by the Everywoman who becomes her best friend, Ann (played by Rashida Jones, of The Office). First though, to sum up my thoughts on the series’ premise, I think its government setting and affiliated topics — the approved expansions (like politics) – feed the show for all seven seasons and keep story almost always attached, somehow, to an element of its situation. So, once the show locks into its Leslie-rooted post-mockumentary perspective, that’s a force for storytelling consistency.

Of course, how the characters exist in, and uphold, this premise is even more important. I think my least favorite thing about Parks And Rec is that it can’t help but indulge the rom-com clichés that seemed mandated for all NBC sitcoms in the post-Friends era, with lots of focus on the couplings and uncouplings of its leading players. Too much of this can sound contrived, driven by story turns rather than specifics about the regulars and the premise, and even though I’d say this show’s feel-good tone is optimistically romantic in the tradition of Friends (and all its followers, including The Office) — which means its aesthetically of the piece — I don’t consider anything great sitcommery unless it’s both really funny and tailored well to the characters and their situation. As for the characters, most are fairly well-defined and conducive to comedy. There are only a few exceptions — like the aforementioned Ann, who’s sort of a “straight man” in a world that doesn’t need one, for remember, this show quickly decides not to treat Leslie as an un-self-aware kook. So, she doesn’t need a “normal” person to provide a baseline reaction for the audience to clock a disparity in perspective (see: Jim vs. Michael/Dwight). No, the show and everyone – even Ann – embraces Leslie, leaving Ann with not a lot to comedically provide, since she’s just less quirky than everyone else. That is, she’s not nearly as comical compared to the other leads — namely the aforementioned Ron, the strongest ensemble member, as his friendly but sometimes oppositional dynamic with Leslie makes him the most situationally helpful character overall; not to mention Tom (Aziz Ansari), Andy (Chris Pratt), and April (Aubrey Plaza, who really steps into her own in Season Two); and even the more peripheral players like Donna (Retta) and Jerry (Jim O’Heir). However, I appreciate Ann’s role in the group as, again, the personification of Leslie’s fight to do good on behalf of the public, and because this series obviously treats their friendship as an emotional core – with Leslie’s optimistic can-do attitude inspiring Ann the Everywoman – stories that involve their relationship do carry more situational weight. Ann’s departure in Season Six is a loss as a result, impacting the quality of the show because it’s an emotional tentpole never effectively replaced.

The other dud in the cast is Mark (Paul Schneider), Leslie’s mostly unrequited crush who then becomes a love interest for Ann – a potentially thorny ensemble dynamic that nevertheless doesn’t end up providing much situation comedy because he too is unhelpfully bland compared to the others. Indeed, Mark’s departure at the end of Season Two helps the show elevate, taking out someone from the cast who wasn’t contributing much and, by design, simply couldn’t, since he was made to be the “fixer” for an earlier version of Leslie that was supposed to be more embarrassing and inept than endearing and capable. And by now, the show is truly ready to soar — it’s refined the other main characters, dropped the mockumentary conceit from the situation, and settled into its unique voice. Additionally, Mark’s departure also frees up space for two new leads who wind up staying until Seasons Six and Seven, respectively – Chris (Rob Lowe) and Ben (Adam Scott), with both assuming the primary love interest roles for Ann and Leslie, respectively. These new guys are each decently defined, more prone to quirk and thus capable of coloring story and adding yuks — and the show improves tenfold with them, stepping into its most favorable conditions. Specifically, Seasons Three, Four, and Five constitute the series’ extended peak era — when all its best players are present and the show feels fully formed, maintaining a pretty consistent quality due to support from its well-established characters and the narrative aid provided to them by the premise. And while we’ll see that Three, with its best cast newly in place, is the most narratively novel and thus effortlessly exciting of this elevated middle era (and therefore perhaps the series’ true peak), Four boosts itself with an arc about Leslie running for city council that then plays out with her taking on that new job in Five, making for fresh, new, different stories in each of these seasons, all of which are uniquely affixed to the series’ situation, as they reliably continue to explore the central Leslie character in interesting ways. And even amidst big cast losses in Six, which coincide with an already dwindling freshness in its idea-generation, Parks and Rec naturally declines. (Six and Seven are, yes, weaker than the middle years.) But it’s never bad, for the situation basically remains and the bones of the situation – character and premise – are enough to keep it standing upright.

Now, not every lead is created equal, mind you – some, we’ll see, are better for laughs and/or story than others. But that’s true for every ensemble sitcom (even the greats, like Mary Tyler Moore and Cheers). So, although you’ll notice that I believe this series’ situation is best evoked with Leslie and/or Ron front and center, for their contrasting perspectives on government emphasize their characterizations while also using key elements of the series’ premise, I again, consider Parks And Rec to be fairly consistent beyond them as well. And despite the time it takes the show to refine itself in Seasons One and Two, along with its relatively weaker conditions during Six and Seven, it’s a reliable sitcom compared to most, with a baseline sense of feel-good optimism that keeps the proceedings affable and beautifully rooted in a sensibility earned by its central character, a winsome well-intentioned lead for whom we root. As she battles the system and those opposed to it in her efforts to do good, Leslie exhibits the kind of plucky Mary Richards cheer that contrasts smartly against the Liz Lemon version of Mary, which was more frazzled and neurotic (with equal parts Rhoda and Phyllis). Personally, I do find Liz funnier because she’s messier, and in general, I think 30 Rock is a funnier series, with higher highs than Parks And Rec. Similarly, I think The Office also has higher highs, but that comes with lower lows too — and rightfully so, for after all, both The Office and 30 Rock conceptually are bolder, with riskier idea-driven tenets that Parks And Rec either avoids or quickly drops, making the latter a more even-keeled, traditional low-concept sitcom, couching its maintained link to the sexy modernism of its older siblings in a more straightforward narrative situation and a much more familiar tone. This renders it an easier, more likely model for the genre to follow throughout the 2010s, during which Parks And Rec would stay a high-water mark, representing the new ideal workplace comedy… with bright, big characters but an elemental simplicity via uncomplicated warmth in place of clever meta. Okay, I can’t lie; The Office and 30 Rock still are, for me, the more interesting, exciting shows to watch and discuss, but Parks And Rec is a comforting friend – and for sitcoms, that’s a great thing to be. I’m thrilled to add it to this blog’s rolodex.

01) Episode 4: “Boys’ Club” (Aired: 04/30/09)

Leslie breaks government ethics while trying to fit in with the men in her office.

Written by Alan Yang | Directed by Michael McCullers

If I had to pick one offering to represent this short season, it’d be “Boys’ Club,” for it’s this collection’s most illuminating exploration of the Leslie character, reinforcing her commitment to public service and her steadfast belief in the work she’s doing to better people’s lives. And all through a cringey conflict of her own making, where her episodic desire to fit in and be liked by others (the so-called “boys’ club” in her office) leads her to break government ethics and then immediately regret it. This is a terrific idea because it tells us a lot about who Leslie is via her basic craving for community with others (which explains why she values government and its capabilities) and then her immediate shame when breaking her code as a public servant (which she considers important). Initially this depiction of her perspective is used to mock her — with the audience cringing at the absurd extremity of her beliefs — but then the entry pivots into a conscious adjudication of her nevertheless exaggerated behavior as earnest and even noble, with Ron Swanson defending her to the ethics’ committee. This is a compelling choice — earlier episodes had her quasi-love interest Mark begrudgingly advocating for her on the basis of her plucky spirit; but now, the person in the ensemble who’s ideologically opposed to her helps her because he respects her sincerity. That provides Leslie much more credibility and is a great building block for their relationship — humanizing both by making them more sympathetic, while also signaling to the audience that the show will also start to treat Leslie with a similar respect. From this point, the “cringe” will be gradually reduced, for Leslie’s beliefs are going to be condoned — she’ll remain the optimistic believer in government’s nobility, but instead of that making her a humiliating figure in a world that derides her, she’ll be the genuinely likable avatar for the world (show) itself. So, this is the first half hour to showcase the tweaking of Leslie that is only just beginning, and with a subplot that also expands its use of the very funny Andy (Chris Pratt), I look to this as Season One’s most formative character showing.

02) Episode 6: “Rock Show” (Aired: 05/14/09)

Leslie’s mom sets her up on a date and Andy returns to his band after getting his cast off.

Written by Norm Hiscock | Directed by Michael Schur

Season One’s finale isn’t as progressively determinative for character as the above, but it nevertheless does indicate a tonal and narrative shift for the series that indeed previews more of what to expect next year. For instance, Leslie is not the subject of cringe here — she’s the uncomfortable one, on an awkward date with a geriatric zoning commissioner — and that’s a shift born about by a realignment in the show’s sense of humor and an evolving understanding of how she fits in it. Additionally, with a centerpiece at a bar (where Andy’s playing with his rock band), this entry frontlines the characters’ personal lives, and specifically, their romantic lives, which becomes prime narrative fodder for the remainder of the series, with Andy/Ann’s possible break-up and Leslie/Mark’s kiss suggesting story threads for the show to easily follow in Two. Now, as noted, I find many of these rom-com beats to be banal and situationally unspecific — particularly with Mark, who’s heretofore operated more as a device than a character: someone for whom Leslie can pine, as he begrudgingly advocates on her behalf to a world that doesn’t take her seriously. But as the world, this show, starts embracing her in earnest and she no longer needs such an advocate, all he can do is become a love interest, and that’s not fully effective since he lacks a personality. In fact, his inclusion here — along with the use of Leslie’s mom, who recurs in the first season and then is sparsely featured hereafter — displays just how much the series still has to go in reformatting itself into peak conditions, for although this finale reveals strides made with tone and content, it’s still got to lock into the regular dynamics that’ll truly reflect this full-sale pivot from the pilot’s complete but imperfect setup.

Other notable episodes that merit mention include: “The Banquet,” another revealing segment for Leslie, as her belief in the good of government is put in conflict with her own personal morals — egged on by her hardened and manipulative mother (who is phased out after this first season), and “Pilot,” which actually sets up the series well… it’s just not the best version of what Parks And Rec will turn into being, as it soon moves away from these Office-style roots.

*** The MVE Award for the Best Episode from Season One of Parks And Recreation goes to…

“Boys’ Club”

Come back next week for Season Two! And stay tuned tomorrow for a new Wildcard! Oh, also — I’d be so grateful if you would share your thoughts on (mostly) 2000s sitcoms in my latest reader survey! Read more about it here, and fill it out here!