You're So Vain
Several weeks ago, my wife and I were watching television and she said,
"Wait a minute. Rewind that."
We have that fancy but outrageously expensive digital cable from Time Warner, so we can hit the rewind button on damn near everything.
I obliged.
We were watching
The Big Bang Theory, a show that I initially didn't like. It's from the creator of another show that I initially didn't like,
Two and a Half Men. I am, after all, an academic! Surely
Two and a Half Men is a knock-off rehashing of low-ball comedy a la
Married With Children and doesn't merit more than my disdain—especially since it stars Charlie Sheen!
It was almost by accident that I started watching
Two and a Half Men. A few years back I read something about what the reality TV boom is doing to syndication. Faced with a glut of reality shows that really can be watched only once (if at all), what shows will be rerun in the space between 5:00pm and prime time? The joke was, as I recall, crap like
Two and a Half Men.
So one night I watched. And I laughed.
Typical, I said under my breath. But I laughed.
And then something interesting happened: I started watching the show regularly. At first, to my wife's dismay. But it wasn't long before she, too, became addicted.
My embarrassed love of the show turned to conviction: While the set-up is tried-and-true sitcom tom-foolery, it is
smart tom-foolery. The jokes work because they play on classic comedic tropes, but there is definitely something more vibrating beneath the surface—an honesty one rarely finds in, well, tried-and-true-sitcom-tom-foolery.
Okay, rewind.
So, I rewound the episode and paused at the vanity card. Lo and behold, where most production companies place random life objects—pictures of pets, sonograms—or design esoteric inside jokes (Joss Whedon's Mutant Enemy springs to mind—Grr... Argh), there was a white card with lots of writing on it. Writing that would simply slip by unnoticed or unread unless someone took the time to record and/or stop the broadcast to read.
The one that my wife caught was
#198. Interestingly enough, Lorre was apologizing, in his own special way (which is not apology so much as sardonic reprisal), for something he had written on the week's initial vanity card—a religious barb to which CBS took offense.
My wife promptly picked up the laptop and navigated her way to Lorre's website where anyone can access the two hundred plus vanity cards from all of Lorre's television shows, and where you can view the uncensored original
#198.
Quickly perusing a random sample of them elicits two truths about Lorre: His intelligence manifests in sardonic wit; His natural inclination is toward bitterness. Both of these things are at the core of his writing—which speaks volumes for why his shows are so damn funny.
I did a little poking around and found "It Hurts To Laugh," an EW.com article by Lynette Rice. In it, Rice claims that Lorre is the "angriest man in television." She also notes EW's mostly-hate relationship with Lorre and his shows. Rice cites Gillian Flynn who claimed, in 2004, that Two and a Half Men "'ain't edgy' and has a 'nasty' take on the differences between men and women.'"
Lorre reluctantly talked to EW in 2006, saying "You're gonna get a lot of hate mail if you say you like this show…It's going to take a real act of courage to say this damn thing is funny.'' I would imagine Lorre wasn't surprised that Rice's article wound up civil and kind to him, but never went so far as to fully endorse
Two and a Half Men. Even now, EW mentions the show's success with a wince: "
Two And A Half Men continued its reign as the most watched sitcom on TV (
sorry,
The Office, No. 21, and
30 Rock, No. 44)."
But I guess that's to be expected. Didn't I start this whole thing with a certain amount of reluctance? And I like the show.
Back to the vanity card thing.
Lorre's been writing vanity cards long enough that his very first card reads, "Thank you for videotaping 'Dharma & Greg'." Oh yeah, people used to use VHS recorders to video tape television shows. Wow.
This is important, though, because it illustrates a fundamental facet of Lorre's character. He knew, going into this whole vanity card diatribe thing, that only a handful of people at the most would ever actually
read the cards. Even now, with our new-fangled technology, a casual fan of the show might by-pass them altogether. Certainly, I had been watching the show for years (?) before taking the time to pause.
So what gives? Why would Lorre go through this much trouble?
I'm reminded of a scene from
Stealing Beauty that I often pilfer for my writing classes. Liv Tyler soaks in a bathtub, a candle nearby, writing poetry on little scraps of paper. In melodramatic, Bertoluccian fashion—in a moment that could only exist in film—Tyler completes her verse and promptly sets it ablaze, burning the thought away almost as soon as it is formed.
This, I tell my students, is the beauty of writing. Sometimes performing the act itself is more important than what is actually written.
Anyway.
Lorre's initial vanity cards manifest as a cycle of beliefs that reflect his torment, a torment that I imagine springs from being an intelligent artist writing in a thankless medium. Television, despite the flashes of brilliance that appear from time to time, does not reward intelligence.
(In the background, I can here Joss Whedon and Tim Minear huff and grumble.)But I might also argue that
Two and a Half Men grew out of Lorre's vanity cards. That is, his ability to ruminate over his frustrations may have led him to write a show whose central conceit is frustration.
[1]Take a look at vanity card
#109, the second to appear on
Two and a Half Men. It reads like a mission statement.
And, for a show that is supposedly "low-brow," I find it gratifying that Lorre's primary assumption is "an intelligent audience." I'll refer back to my teaching: My number one mantra is "Know your audience." And while I spend much of my time trying to get my students to write to their audience(s), I also try to get them to dissect the assumptions made by authors of the texts they read.
What does the (any)
writer want you to think?
All of this is to say that reading Lorre's proclamation ("We assume an intelligent audience") alters our very perception of his show. If we watch the show
without knowing this (that we're supposed to
think while watching), then we might assume that the intended audience is a pack of brain dead mutants fattened on tit and fart jokes. We are Frito in
Idiocracy watching
Ow! My Balls!
And certainly,
Two and a Half Men appeals to such an audience.
But if the author of the text
intends for his show a higher level of thinking, then it might do us good to turn our brains back on and look for more than fart jokes.
I can honestly say that there is more to this show than fart jokes. In fact,
Two and a Half Men—like
Seinfeld before it—is almost an anti-sitcom. Lorre works from within the sitcom formula to
dismantle it and create something much more affective, more
human.
It's funny that I should say that—that the show is human—given that vanity card #109 clearly states that the show will refuse to have any of the typical heart-string pulling moments we've come to expect in our sitcoms (Look at how Kelsey Grammer's
Back to You has
already—not a full season in yet—pulled some of these cheap punches).
But it is—more so because it does not tread on the kinds of set-ups we expect from sitcoms. Or rather, it starts with those but takes us to a much different place. The show is human because it remains true to its central conceit: Life is frustrating.
Wave of HumiliationIn Rice's article, when asked about
American Idol, Lorre responds, ''Humiliating someone for being incompetent or untalented is not my idea of entertainment.'' This might seem a bit hypocritical since much of the "fun" in Jon Cryer's Alan Harper relies on his ineptitude. Think back to what I've already quoted:
it ain't edgy; it's nasty.
Clearly we are meant to laugh at Alan's incompetence?
But that's misleading. Alan's continued humiliation is symptomatic of his inability to recognize that his problems originate from within: His world view does not match up with his reality. Alan believes in justice, love, and happiness. He continues to misstep as a result of this misalignment with the truth of the universe. Conversely, Charlie's reality is quite harmonious. That is, he recognizes the world for what it is, accepts it, and profits (mostly) from it. Charlie's humiliations are usually taken in stride—with a "sometimes you win; sometimes you lose" mentality. This is not to say that he is always happy, or that he isn't occasionally (repeatedly) punished. Rather, he accepts his fate and waits for the next good lay.
Both of these men represent opposing attitudes toward life: Seek to improve the world (idealism) or accept it for what it is (pragmatism). To be fair (or clearer), Alan's idealism is fostered in cynicism. But, his inability to find happiness is rooted in his idealist nature.
Or wait, what was it that Lorre says in vanity card #4?
Oh yeah, "I believe I'm growing skeptical of cynicism."
Where's the Beef?
The more I entrench myself in the show, the more I'm convinced that Flynn has it wrong: We are, at first, repulsed by the two leading men. One is a womanizing pig; the other is a mooch. But as dysfunctional as they are, they are nevertheless united in their love (though they would never admit it). Despite his protestations, and conventional (wrong) thinking, Charlie is clearly a "great" uncle to Jake. And though Alan is the world's biggest loser when it comes to women, he is a protective father. Jake will, of course, grow up to be as dysfunctional as his two male role models, but he will always be loved.
Charlie identifies with Jake because he is clearly a man-child with mommy issues. It should not come as a surprise that he most identifies with the children he encounters (they love his adolescent sense of humor; his "best" music is childish). What will come as a surprise is the notion that Charlie most identifies with children because he sees more in their innocence than lack of experience. The world of children is clearly better than the adult world. Charlie's decision to never grow up is one founded not necessarily in psychosis, but in choice. A simple, innocent life keeps the horrors of experience at bay.
Mind you, there is plenty evidence for psychosis…
I'll add, too, that Charlie's womanizing is not malicious. It is self-destructive but does not spring from misogyny. He doesn't have any respect for himself. Why should he treat women any differently? And he is often quick to point out that they get just as much out of his affairs as he does. True, there's no growth. But in the dystopia that is Malibu, how can one really grow?
And then there's Jake. He's not particularly bright, but he's an excellent gambler. And he is the epitome of the millennial. I won't dignify that last statement with clarification.
And let's face it: Angus T. Jones is a brilliant comedian.
The Elegant UniverseWhen I was explaining the charms of
The Big Bang Theory to a colleague, she asked, "Why's it called
'The Big Bang Theory?'" I didn't have a good answer. I rattled something off about science and nerds. But of course, there's more to it than that. In fact, the title resonates with Lorre's penchant for doubling of meaning. Certainly, it is titled appropriately for its geek-derived humor. But the deeper meaning is this: The show's main conceit is sex—and how difficult it is to navigate the game of getting sex, love, and happiness. It is a theoretical treatise on man's pursuit of woman.
That's not all that deep (hence my continued use of parenthetical addendums), but it works for the show because theory and practice don't match up. Smart guys don't get hot chicks is the thesis of this show. Surely, the audience expects Leonard to eventually hook up with Penny. Sitcomdom dictates it. However, Lorre will likely resist this inevitability as long as he can. As well he should: If the two characters ever consummate, then a false "lesson" will be learned. Smart guys don't get hot chicks.
If smart guy gets hot chick, then the show will invalidate itself.
But here again, I think there's more to it than that. See, what I've noticed as the series continues (thankfully, we will get another season—because of the strike? hmm…) is that Penny is certainly not the dumb blonde that we were led to (or we presumed her to) be when the show started. Her acerbic wit and ability to shut Sheldon down is one of the highlights of the show. These two are the odd couple of the new millennium.
And there's something more there, too: The argument that Lorre's view of man/woman relationships "'ain't edgy'" but "'nasty'" might logically lead to the idea that Lorre's worldview is misogynistic.
But Penny. Penny is
smart.
The title of
Two and a Half Men also has double meaning, which should be obvious upon second look. It infers a question: We immediately assume that Jake is the "half" man, but is he really? Who is the "half" man? Cycle around the three and one can make a pretty good case for all of them. In fact, I would suggest that together they make two and a half men. In any given situation, they perform as whole or half.
I started down this path in an attempt to get to the humiliation thing. In the pilot episode of
The Big Bang Theory, Leonard agrees to get some stuff from Penny's ex-boyfriend's apartment. The meat-head ex pantses Sheldon and Leonard. We see them walking up their sysiphusian stairs in tighty-whities. Certainly this is humiliation for audience gratification, no?
No. This is a "lesson" in social hierarchy. We laugh, but not at Sheldon and Leonard. We laugh at the situation. Actually, I take that back. We are laughing at Sheldon and Leonard. We laugh because they have tried to move out of their social station. This is naturalism through and through—which should come as no surprise since the show is ultimately about science, rationalism, humanism, and societal conventions. Social Darwinism.
The Jerusalem Duality
While Lorre might protest that there is no message, that no greater interpretation is expected of
The Big Bang Theory, episode twelve is more than it first appears. In this particular episode, Sheldon is dethroned as grand-science-nerd-poobah by a fifteen year old North Korean. The episode spirals ever-downward as Sheldon tries to claim a different corner of the intellectual market (the title of the episode refers to his plan to recreate Jerusalem wholesale in the Mexican desert). But, in a brilliant turn, Dennis Kim, the North Korean prospect is "neutralized" by a fifteen year old blonde girl.
True to the overall tone of the show, this episode shows our geek heroes losing yet again, and as expected, order is eventually restored. The plot-premise is certainly not new. But I can't help but find an all too prescient allegory here. This episode is a biting dumb-show: It posits how the western world's fear of eastern dominance will be succinctly cut by the west's ability to destroy all that is promising in humanity through exploitation of base instincts. That Dennis Kim suffered to tunnel his way out of North Korea—only to be brought low by a blonde tart in hot pants says everything we need to know about the future of mankind.
And with that, I think I'm done.
Rice's article discusses Lorre's frustrations in much greater detail—to the point that this statement is not really that accurate. My point, though, is that Lorre may very well be the kind of person who uses his writing as therapy. If his vanity cards serve as a release valve, then it might follow that this release allowed him to get to a point of creating a show that hits closer to home? Hmm…
So, back to listening to that CD of the service. There's a good twenty minutes of piano before anything "happens." Our officiant chimes in with a "Greet the bride." Now, the recording was rudimentary. A kid from the church wired up the minister with a lavalier and all the audio comes from his neck. "Greet the bride," he announces. Mandy starts her trek down the aisle. And then, something I only vaguely recall happens. The minister leans over and says, "Pretty good looking."
