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| (Netflix) |
Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt
proves two things: Tina Fey and Robert Carlock know how they like to make their
comedies, and NBC missed out on what would have been its best new comedy in
quite some time.
Netflix
launched the entire 13-episode first season of Kimmy Schmidt yesterday, scooping up what NBC had picked up to
series and began production on before realizing, perhaps rightly, that it was a
bad fit for them. Following the survivor of a doomsday cult in which members
were secluded in a bunker for a decade-and-a-half, the sitcom opens with
NBC-like sunniness as well as an unexpected depth of oddity and seriously dark
undertones. Already renewed for a second season by Netflix, it’s fair to say
that Fey and Carlock’s 30 Rock follow-up
would have been treated to the kind of time-slot switches and bizarre marketing
ploys that is characteristic for the Peacock network, which may have undermined
its creative and commercial success.
But
it’s also worth considering that NBC has exactly nothing right now in the 30-minute
department, and Kimmy Schmidt opens
as a sharp, funny series with a fast-rising star at its center (Ellie Kemper).
If NBC had The Office and the
just-departed Parks and Recreation to
pad around it, Kimmy Schmidt may have
been just mainstream enough to score on the network as a niche critical hit.
But in the current NBC model, this show would have to lead; and leader Kimmy Schmidt is not.
The
show itself, then, plays a curious role on Netflix. It is an NBC comedy:
structured loosely, heavy on pop culture references, set to a light, bouncy
score (by Fey’s husband, Jeff Richmond) and extremely witty. Netflix’s
all-at-once release strategy has been optimal for the character-focused (and
generally addictive) Orange Is the New
Black; the twisty and deliciously campy House
of Cards; the specifically binge-structured Arrested Development resurrection; and surely, the upcoming Damages-esque Bloodline. Netflix doesn’t release its viewership information, so
while we’ll never truly know how it fares, Kimmy
Schmidt is a definite test for how this model works for straight sitcoms –
both with viewers, and in terms of quality.
It’s
also possible, given the show’s pedigree and the prestige of a Netflix launch,
to overpraise a show like Kimmy Schmidt.
Having binged the first season, as is the streaming service’s way, the show is
a witty, often-inspired but increasingly unremarkable first-year comedy. This
is not a bad thing; as I discussed when reviewing You’re the Worst last year, sitcoms figure it out on the fly all the
time. And first seasons are generally rough. But curiously, Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt roars out of
the gate and breathlessly moves along. It surprises, in the best way, for its
oddity, its confidence and its brazen lead performance. It’s also, from moment
one, extremely funny. But rather than embracing its pitch-black subject matter
and the utter insanity of the premise and world it’s built around, Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt sands its
edges after a too-promising start. It peters out, eventually leveling as a
solid NBC sitcom yet to reach the heights of a 30 Rock or, as I was hoping/expecting, a Community.
Kimmy Schmidt
has an arsenal of strengths, however, that always keep it more than afloat.
Kimmy moves in with Titus Andromedon, a failed Broadway actor who is played
with irresistible verve by Tituss Burgess. As a black, gay man from
Mississippi, he shares Kimmy’s chronic desire to ditch the messy past for the
endless possibilities of New York. But he’s jaded. Burgess is just a fantastic
actor all-around, his comedic timing aces and melancholic underlining deeply
affecting. His chemistry with Kemper is excellent, and the way the two balance
each other out in terms of enthusiasm and ambition provides a solid emotional
core to the series. And the two work wonders with a third character popping up
more than expected: Lillian, their landlady, played by Carol Kane. Kane’s a
perfect fit here, too, embodying a nutty, old-world New Yorker with generous
sympathy and comic intensity.
But
the real, deep investment in this (rather significant) part of the show settles
by the season’s halfway point. Kimmy and Titus will talk about their respective
storylines and still provide necessary, alternate perspectives to each other,
but the emotional weight of this relationship doesn’t cut as deeply – it’s all
just mildly funny at a certain point. In the second half of the season, Kimmy
gets thrust into a fairly bland romantic storyline, while Titus more humorously
begins working at a theme restaurant on Broadway. Their relationship, once
weirdly compelling and compellingly weird, is filtered more basically into a
two-friends-in-the-big-city conceit. It’s still funny and uniquely-drawn, but
is also something you can get with more bite in, say, Broad City.
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| Netflix |
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enduringly compelling, and what contributes best to the Kimmy Schmidt whole, is the relationship between Kimmy and her
boss, Manhattan socialite Jacqueline (Jane Krakowski, reuniting with Fey after 30 Rock). Jacqueline, too, escaped a
bizarre past – in a hilarious, gloriously politically-incorrect revelation, we
learn she’s a Native American who abandoned her “roots” – to find success in
the city. She married rich, got everything she wanted – until her husband
stopped coming home. Her arc, helped out by Kimmy, finds her accepting divorce
(a plug here for Amy Sedaris, who absolutely crushes a cameo as an
already-divorced friend who proves to be not-so-happy) and reclaiming herself.
With Kimmy, Titus and Jacqueline alike, the city promised rebirth, and each are
in different stages post-arrival. At first, Krakowski seems to be knocking on
Jenna Maroney beats from 30 Rock –
not at all a bad thing – but in the season’s latter half, she’s exceptionally,
surprisingly good. The show also closes in on an argument for female self-worth,
as both Kimmy and Jacqueline have either been told, or have taught themselves,
to lean on men to survive. That independent, radically feminist streak to Kimmy Schmidt is superbly handled by
Fey/Carlock, and it’s admirably confrontational. It’s what keeps Kimmy interesting and special once the
show’s zaniness and initial oddity settles down.
All
of this analysis; but how funny is the show? Maybe it’s the binge method
– though I have enough confidence in myself to deny that option – but I found
the laughs more infrequent and the humor increasingly monotonous as the show
raced to episode 13. A lot of this has to do with the character of Kimmy,
specifically. In some episodes, she’s just lost, and it’s when Kemper is at her
most infectious; wide-eyed, clueless and fairly manic. But though she’s always
human and sympathetic, and her optimism and strength never waver (see the
title), in certain episodes she’s randomly, and in a fashion far less
comedically involving, firmer. In a multi-episode arc where she’s left to
choose between GED classmate Dong and a wealthy friend of Jacqueline’s, the
beats Kemper hits are a little too basic and what’s happening around her not
funny enough to compensate. You could probably stick Liz Lemon or Leslie Knope
in that love triangle, and it wouldn’t make much of a difference. Other plots,
including the season-ending arc (more on that in a minute) in which Kimmy and
her fellow captives stand trial against the “Reverend” who trapped them,
similarly situates her in a more put-together light. Kemper is good either way,
but by binging, it becomes a little clearer that, particularly in the second
half of episodes, Kimmy is written to fit an arc and a theme, and doesn’t
always organically jump from one to the next.
What
this does, in effect, is render the humor less distinguishable. The
aforementioned trial, which proceeds as extremely funny mostly because Jon Hamm
is so good and so funny as the smarmy Reverend, starts floating into
small-town Parks and Recreation
humor. And the show hews a little too closely to 30 Rock, which again isn’t quite so terrible, as Kimmy normalizes
as a person. The show feels darker in the early-going, specifically with
Kimmy’s trauma-related flashbacks and Titus’ off-handed mentions of being
married, as opposed to where it ends. We’re left with a fusion of witty comic
sensibilities that are always passable and pleasantly diverting, but they lack
the edge of what early episodes promised. Or, to be a bit more cynical, the
whole thing concludes as a slightly-missed opportunity: oddly, as it gets away
from NBC and towards Netflix, the show feels less willing to go dark or be bold.
But,
to be fair, Kimmy Schmidt is a comedy
and it’s usually pretty funny (and, beginning to end, this thing is as
quote-worthy as anything on the air right now). You get diminishing returns
here, the humor not quite weighty enough to suit the binge model. But the guest
appearances, like in 30 Rock, lighten
up almost every episode – along with Hamm and Sedaris, Martin Short and Richard
Kind get really great material to work with – and the core cast is fantastic.
Fey and Carlock will always be able to craft a series with good jokes, and this
group of actors nails them with professional consistency. And, infused with a
sharp feminist zing, there’s always an underlying, pointed perspective here.
But when all is said and done, you can’t help but get the feeling that this
could have been a little more something, a bit more daring. It’s a solid
NBC comedy, but not the edgy and murky one that could have been.
Grade: B