The second season of The CW’s Jane the Virgin — centered on Jane Villanueva (Gina Rodriguez), an aspiring romance novelist trapped in the conventions of a telenovela — culminates in a whole mess of juicy, ridiculous twists. Detective Susanna Barnett (Megan Ketch) turns out to be the cunning and devious Sin Rostro (Bridget Regan), the crime boss who we had supposedly seen die just episodes earlier; Anechka Solano (Yael Grobglas) induces her twin sister Petra (in Jane’s pulpy spirit) into a coma in the hope of wooing Jane’s ex Rafael (Justin Baldoni); and, most tragically, the angelic Michael Cordero (Brett Dier), on the cusp of consummating his marriage with Jane, is shot in the chest. Alas, Jane the virgin she remains.
Certainly, Jane the Virgin outdoes itself with cliffhangers in its second season — especially considering its first ended merely on a kidnapping, solved almost immediately thereafter. Yet the brilliance of the show lies in its ability to blend high-stakes theatrics with heartfelt emotion and — even more radically — sincerity.
Indeed, who would care much at all about suspense without the ability to relate to characters on a deep, personal level? Jane, her mother Xiomara (Andrea Navedo) and her grandmother Alba (Ivonne Coll) — the Villanueva woman — have always been the show’s strongest characters, easy to connect with. But Season Two’s success rests primarily on its strengthened supporting cast: Petra, Michael, Rafael’s loony sister Luisa (Yara Martinez), Jane’s father Rogelio (the great Jaime Camil) — all characters who started off as either one-note villains, mushy boyfriends or comical caricatures. Jane plays off of these types in season two while also allowing its audience to get a tangible sense of the individual stakes for these characters, from Petra wanting to be a good mother to Rogelio attempting to balance his love for Xo and his desire to be a father.
This accounts for Jane’s startling and often surprising effectiveness, for even as it traffics in caricature and soap and uproarious slapstick, it never loses its soul. Jane the Virgin has its cake and eats it too, containing all that we expect of great entertainment. It’s pure escapism, but also one of the most expertly crafted shows out there right now — comedy or drama. Its sincerity and earnestness is matched only by its exuberant but nevertheless grounded protagonist.
What’s remarkable about Jane the Virgin — and Rodriguez’s tremendous performance — is that it so fully embraces the notions of growth and change. This season has thematically charted the shifting relationship between Xo and Jane, with the former (not so successfully) striving to jump-start her singing career, and the latter finding solid footing with Michael, her fiancé throughout the season. (Those of us on Team Michael should be very happy for Jane, after finding it impossible to imagine what exactly Jane ever saw in that Walking Rolex called Rafael Solano.) Throughout the season, Jane has been attempting to discover herself as a mother, a writer and a girlfriend — the show’s now-undeniable thrust.
No comedy on television — in this dubbed “Silver Age” — has Jane’s heart. Even my favorite comedies of this television season — Please Like Me, Veep, Silicon Valley, The Carmichael Show, Getting On, BoJack Horseman — are often caustic and ironic, critical and satirical. Jane the Virgin embraces an old-school style of television comedy, one that forsakes easy critique and message to instead offer a frank, fairytale-like narrative about what it means to be a woman.
Watching Jane the Virgin embodies what television can be at its purest: it makes us feel at home, allowing us to watch people discover themselves one episode at a time. It plays with genre by boasting a surreal component as well: it’s about family and love and friendship and… evil twins and drug lords? Sure. Oddly, in that way, I’d argue that Jane the Virgin is the authentic heir to Arrested Development, the famed Fox sitcom that has spawned many unworthy copycats. Similarly tackling family and growing up (or the inability to grow up) — as well as the fundamental nature of television and genre — Arrested first demonstrated Jane’s tricky balancing act and commitment to originality. The sitcom was able to find the genuine in the absurd, balancing the two with equal deft and bravura. Jane the Virgin now does so in a comparable fashion, right down to its interactive narrator (voiced perfectly by Anthony Mendez).
The show is a technical feat in many respects, yet — as with all great art — it makes the process look effortless, like a perfectly choreographed dance number or a masterfully rendered composition. Great comedy is about being distinct, being bold and fearless. Jane the Virgin pushes the envelope in about every way possible, but its greatest feat is staying true to its gooey, soapy heart.