Community (2009-2014)

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.