Below are my seven personal choices for this TV season's 7 Outstanding Comedy Series nominees.
As always, the definition of "comedy" is an exceptionally broad one. Of those I didn't include (but considered), HBO's Looking is among the small-screen's most cinematic offerings, with the look and feel of an indie film leaning closer to the dramatic side. The pay cable network's The Comeback, similarly, took a blisteringly bleak turn in its belated second season, including the horrifyingly confrontational episode "Valerie Gets Down on Her Knees." And though competing with a lighter (and less successful) season than is usual, Showtime's Shameless is still a formally-ambitious hour-long that commits in its exploration of very dark themes including child abandonment and mental illness.
Like I'm sure is the case with every Emmy voter, I obviously didn't get a chance to screen everything for this category. Of serious Emmy contenders, I (and many other critics I know) gave up on Modern Family a while ago, and never at all cared for The Big Bang Theory. I've seen most everything else notable, however: I wasn't impressed with Netflix's star-studded Grace and Frankie (nor FX's The Comedians), but I often found the streaming service's Ellie Kemper vehicle Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt drop-dead hilarious, even if significantly flawed. Similarly, I've been a bigger fan of Louie in the past, and perhaps its slivered episode count is the reason it left a little less of an impression. Even still, as my other ballot choices indicate, this show's ambition and range still has the capacity to leave me in awe, and it remains one of the best half-hour shows on TV.
Of the seven series I chose, two are freshmen. One is more traditionally comic and, as first-year sitcoms tend to be, had some clear flaws to work out. (It was still that good, though.) The other is astonishingly assured in tone. And as for the rest of the ballot, it's an eclectic mix featuring a diversity of stories. In other words, it's a nice representation of the ever-expanding scope of comedic episodic storytelling. This is a group of "comedies" I'd recommend to pretty much anyone.
Without further ado, here are my seven personal choices for Outstanding Comedy Series.
(The blurbs below are lightly-edited excerpts from past writing I've done on the shows.)
Broad City (Comedy Central)
Abbi Jacobson and Ilana Glazer have introduced a brand of humor that’s exceptionally distinct and relentlessly relevant. Their spin on ideas such as technological dependence feels familiar until they go absolutely bonkers (in one episode, a day in which the two decide to go “off the grid” goes hilariously awry), while in other cases, they just have a whole lot of fun and look expert while doing so. From spot-on guest turns -- Susie Essman, Patricia Clarkson and Amy Ryan were all not only great to see, but were used to comedic perfection -- to perfectly-crafted banter, Broad City throws too many pleasures to count on an episodic basis. It’s a sitcom that jolts for its specificity, and for the fact that its language and vision of New York feels at once new and welcoming. But it’s also one that emanates comfort, the spectacular chemistry between its two leads resulting in an immensely pleasurable viewing experience, week-in and week-out.
It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (FXX)
The 10th season of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia pulls off a rather remarkable balance. It’s at once a reckoning with its own history, an experimental foray into different forms of storytelling and a good ol’ season of Sunny shenanigans. No element gets the short shrift, and the end result is a season of TV that leaves you breathless … Truthfully, I’m not sure there’s ever been a time I walked away from a show’s 10th season so tickled and impressed. Through each season, Sunny gets a bit more reflective, a bit more experimental, a bit weirder. But within this show’s flexibly absurd construct, everything works; it’s all kept reliably, immensely funny. Dynamic, energetic and brashly hilarious, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia is as good as ever, a full decade after it began. Here’s to an 11th season.
Getting On (HBO)
Getting On aggressively blends the outrageous with the mundane. It’s a hybrid of the work-family stylings of shows like The Office and of manic-yet-life-affirming half-hours such as Enlightened. Characters in Getting On are removed from more-prominent, more-desirable realms of the medical world for their own reasons, yet as they come together, they collectively find solace in a place completely ignored by everyone beyond it. There are moments of profound emotion: throughout, conversations between characters about how they’ve let loved ones go, and about the relationships with the elderly in their own lives, stay true to the show’s spirit while guiding it into richly dramatic areas.
In a wrenchingly-sad scene in the second season premiere, an older widow excitedly explains to Nurse DiDi (Niecy Nash) that she has the capacity to bring her deceased lover back to the living -- and that the day that she did so was the happiest of her life. Within the same episode, nearly five minutes are spent on Dede accidentally tilting a patient’s bed to the point where Nurse Dawn (Alex Borstein) supports the patient with only her butt against her to prevent her from falling. It’s that balance of melancholy and absurdity which captures the sensibilities of Getting On, a bold and beautiful show of idiosyncrasies.
Silicon Valley (HBO)
In Silicon Valley, meaningful characterizations always rest alongside moments of spectacular comedy. Take, for instance, the scene before the judge reveals the verdict in the season finale, in which Gavin helps Richard tie his tie in the bathroom. It’s a strangely paternal yet also damning moment for Richard, as he steps into the shoes (or, to be more exact, fits himself into the tie) of a man he doesn’t want to become. It’s also, perhaps, more indicative of the lack of social skills these men have, that – even as mortal enemies – there is civility and cordiality. (After all, Gavin asks his guru if he’s surrounded himself with people who only tell him what he wants to hear without even a slight recognition of irony.) Gavin’s disconnection from the daily grind at Hooli (a big theme this season) speaks to his overall disconnection from the real world. It also reveals Mike Judge’s profound strengths as a writer, which came into crystal-clear focus in season 2: his characterizations are always funny and absurd, but they’re also true to character.
Transparent (Amazon)
This is a season of television so naturalistic, fully-realized and emotionally-taxing that every piece of content indicates a near-autobiographical perspective. It’s a family story, with the wide-ranging perceptiveness of a Jonathan Franzen novel and the textured characterizations of greats like Six Feet Under. There are details here that simply stun for their specificity and relatability – characters asking for “schmear” at a deli (seriously, what TV show has ever used that word?), or gorging on ribs as a unifying familial activity – while creator Jill Soloway relays a familial history over just five hours with a level of chronological precision and intellectual depth that is nothing short of awe-inspiring. Once the stunning opening credits conclude, there’s a profound ache that underscores this entire production, a painfully funny expression of parental regret and childish adulthood that's personalized like nothing else on television or in films. From Soloway’s raw favoring of the close-up to the richly authentic work put on screen by an exceedingly-talented cast, Transparent is an exercise in intimacy. Its communications are not only understood and contemplated, but are felt, digging bone-deep right to the heart.
Veep (HBO)
Season 4 begins with Selina Meyer, now President, preparing to give her State of the Union address. The season premiere, "Joint Session," opens with her on the podium facing a blank teleprompter: it reads only "/:." In jumping back in time immediately after this tease, creator Armando Iannucci plays his typical game with the audience. Selina and her team are jumping for joy when we flash back: Mike, her frequently incompetent press secretary, has drafted an unusually strong speech, while Selina is ready to deliver her warmly progressive "Families First" initiative. But wait, she needs to make cuts! But wait, Congress' military hawks won't allow her to make cuts where she needs to! As is Veep's way, the dilemma cascades courtesy of Selina's bumbling staff: her speech ends up calling for an additional $10 million to a pointless military submarine program, while cutting the Families First spending plan altogether. Let this line from Selina sum up the scenario — and perhaps Veep, in intent, in comedy, and in style, as a whole: "Whole cities of children were going to be saved from poverty. Instead, now that money is going to fund obsolete metal giant dildos."
Playful dildo puns, "fucks" coming in a mile-a-minute, character nicknames whittled down to "Jolly Green Jizz Face" — this is not the careful deconstruction of our political system one would expect. And yet, as Veep proves again and again, it’s the definitive expression of our moment.
You’re the Worst (FX)
In You’re the Worst, no character comes off as inauthentic. Even those there mainly to serve the comedy are fully integrated into Falk’s world, emerging completely believable and intricately drawn.
It goes back to that idea of affection. Creator Stephen Falk has a lot of love for his characters and his world; an ostensible nastiness masks real tenderness and vulnerability even though, after a few rocky outings, this is a sitcom that rarely delves into sap. There’s such faith and trust in character that, eventually, there’s an undeniable flow of bracing honesty. Jimmy and Gretchen bounce back and forth, and it’s not hard to see when Gretchen will be intimidated by a gesture, or Jimmy turn on the “emotionally distant” switch, but Falk’s depth of writing is sufficient-enough where it doesn’t matter. Here is the proof that familiarity can be neither good nor bad, but irrelevant. Here, it’s extraneous; there’s no sense in fussing about a “been there, done that” tingling when the emotions of Jimmy, Gretchen et al. are handled with such sensitivity, with such honesty and with such a perfect level of humor. You’re the Worst presents characters and relationships to invest in, an all-too-rare quality featured only among the past decade’s best comedies. Pay attention to this new sitcom, then, because that’s a damn good omen.
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