Ay me…
this one got so close to its hoped-for six seasons and a movie. It clung by threads against the odds,
weathering a changing of the guard, backstage drama, cast fluctuations, and an
eleventh-hour reinvention. For five
years, it was a haven for sentimental oddballs with eyes for detail and hearts
that felt deeply if codependently. Here’s
lookin’ at you, Community.
As is
my way, I’ll begin with the characters.
Eclectic ensembles are nothing new, and ragtag bands of misfits
sometimes seem practically compulsory, but there’s something so specific about the
individuals that populate the substandard halls of Greendale Community College.
Even though the study group is filled at
first glance with stock characters – the smarmy lawyer, the anal-retentive
over-achiever, the dim-witted jock, the self-righteous hipster, the clueless
old guy, the busybody mother hen, and the nerd with Aspie-coded behavior– each of
them is so much more than that.
The
series is driven by Jeff’s moral education, his gradual transformation from a
self-serving bastard to someone who begrudgingly admits that he needs the study
group. Annie can shift in an instant
from a sweetness-and-light teenager to a gets-it-done woman. Troy infuses each episode with joy, and his
loyalty is unmatched. Britta’s loud,
opinionated voice masks a bundle of insecurities, but her awkward heart is always
in the right place. Although Pierce
often proves underhanded and uncouth, his frequently-outrageous actions are
motivated by an overwhelming desire for friendship. Shirley, giving the initial appearance of a
cookies-and-milk mother, has a ruthless streak that comes out at unexpected times. And pop-culture-obsessed Abed is perhaps the
warmest, most thoughtful portrayal of a possibly-neuroatypical character I’ve
ever seen.
Talking
about characters dovetails nicely into talking about relationships. The show’s title doesn’t just refer to the
type of college in which it’s set; the series is all about the bond between the
unlikely group of studiers. There’s the
terrific best friends Troy and Abed, who thrive on the fun they have together
but who have such love for each other (I still whimper internally when I hear
the words “homing pigeon.”) There’s the
unexpected connection between Jeff and Shirley – whether they’re laughing at
Britta’s preposterous boyfriend or training for a foosball grudge match, their
scenes together are always a delight.
There’s the amusing team of Britta and Annie, an odd-couple pair that
points their take-charge personalities at any problem they encounter whether it
wants them to or not.
I could
go on – we have Abed and Jeff, Britta and Shirley, Jeff and Pierce, Annie and
Abed, and I haven’t yet stepped outside the core cast – but we have other
things to talk about. Another of Community’s major appeals is its intense geekiness. The mere existence of Troy and Abed has a lot
to do with that; their nerdish devotion to Batman, Inspector Spacetime, and
dozens of other films and TV shows is geekdom at its best. And while there are jokes to be had in the
midst of their binge-watching, convention-attending, and cos-playing, I don’t
feel like they’re at Troy and Abed’s expense.
Additionally, the show itself has an amazing fondness for lovingly
reconstructing and spoofing countless pop culture pieces, from Pulp Fiction to Law and Order to The
Breakfast Club. Only this series would
keep track of the number of times its characters have said “Beetlejuice,” and I
love it for that. There are tons of
shows for nerds, but not as many that
celebrate them, and I don’t know that
there’s any that do so as sincerely as Community.
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