1100: The One where Pete Watches ‘Friends’ for the First Time in Quite a While

I went through a phase a few years back of watching just two or three different TV series over and over again on a cycle. They were my passive-consumption “comfort food”, if you will — things I turned to when I didn’t really want to do anything, but didn’t really want to fall into that pit of depressed ennui that normally ends up with staring at the wall for hours at a time. Those shows included Spaced and Black Books, which are two series I still own the DVDs for and will never get rid of, and Friends, which I have never owned a complete collection of but have had scattered home-recorded VHS tapes and a few purchased DVDs and videos over the years — also, for many years, it was on a constant cycle of repeats on E4 alongside Scrubs.

Friends is something that I’ve watched so many times now that I can pretty much recite it word for word along with any episode that’s on. It kind of fell out of favour with the public in its latter stages as many people saw it as outstaying its welcome, but I enjoyed it consistently all the way through. As I say, it was comfort food; you knew what to expect with every episode. It was never anything adventurous, but the characters were both relatable and attractive, the situations they got into often personally relevant, and the quips and jokes memorable and, yes, genuinely amusing.

I started re-watching Friends again the other day having come into possession of a complete collection, only this time around I’m watching the “extended cuts” that came out a few years back. These aren’t Lucasesque “special edition” versions, they’re simply about 5 minutes longer per episode, with numerous scenes restored to their full length and, in many cases, adding a whole bunch of additional context and depth to the characters and setting that simply wasn’t there before due to the constraints of the TV scheduling.

I’m really enjoying them so far. This extra footage means that watching the show again after a few years’ break strikes a wonderful balance between the comfortably familiar and the brand-new — and, given how well I know the original versions, I can immediately recognise when something is new. In many cases, scenes that had rather awkward and obvious edits on TV now make much more sense, and in some cases there are scenes that I simply don’t think were even there at all in the first place — Joey’s first meeting with his colourful agent Estelle, for example.

More than the pleasure of getting some “new” Friends to watch, though, I’m overwhelmed with the feeling of comfortable nostalgia that watching this show always infuses in me. I’ve spent so much time with these characters inside my TV over the years that I feel like they’re my friends, too — a fact helped by the fact that I still, to this day, tend to group people in my mind according to which one of the main cast they most remind me of. (Shh. Don’t tell anyone.)

One thing I’d forgotten about is that the show appeared to coin the term “friend zone” back in its first season, where Joey uses it to describe Ross having waited too long to make his move on Rachel. I shan’t get into any of that endless discussion over people who use the term “friend zone” today because it’s inordinately tedious and frustrating, but I wonder how many people remember where it actually came from and its original context. A few years back, I would have deemed it unthinkable for someone to not have knowledge of Friends, but a lot of years have passed since then.

And yet, I struggle to think of a recent TV show I’ve been quite as attached to as Friends. I’ve enjoyed various American comedies that have come since – How I Met Your Mother was originally sold to me as something of a successor to Friends in many ways, and I have major soft spots for Parks and Recreation and 30 Rock — but for me, nothing will ever be quite the same as the time I spent with Monica, Phoebe, Rachel, Ross, Chandler and Joey. However well (or otherwise) you think it may well have aged, there’s little denying that for many people of a similar age to me, Friends was and is a touchstone of popular culture that will always carry at least some degree of personal resonance.

1010: Connected Hearts

I finished watching another new anime tonight specifically so I could write about it for today’s post. Oh, don’t worry (as if you were) — I was enjoying it a lot, so I was more than happy to zip through it and see how it concluded.

Kokoro Connect is its name, and it’s an interesting one. It’s also not at all what it makes itself out to be initially, which I can’t help but feel is perhaps not to its benefit. But that aside, it’s worth a watch, and here’s why.

The elevator pitch of Kokoro Connect is as follows: five high school students have escaped their school’s You Must Join A Club rule by establishing the Student Cultural Society, or StuCS for short. Ostensibly, StuCS is responsible for putting together a school newspaper, but in actuality they spend most of their time hanging out in their club room in relative privacy, talking to one another.

Everything is shaken up one morning when two of the group show up visibly shaken by what appeared to be a strange dream they both had at the same time. For half an hour, they believe that they had switched personalities, with their respective consciousnesses swapping places and then shooting back with no explanation. The others are understandably skeptical of this bizarre story… until it happens again while everyone is watching. Thus begins a rather peculiar tale.

That’s how Kokoro Connect sells itself, anyway. The reality is, in fact, much more interesting, as while the whole “body-swapping thing” is cool, it’s a difficult concept to sustain over a long period. Consequently, the supernatural “hook” of Kokoro Connect actually ends up taking a back-seat to the real reason to watch it — its five characters and their growth over the course of the show’s 13 episodes.

Kokoro Connect’s cast is a relatively diverse one, initially appearing to cover a selection of predictable tropes. We have Taichi, who is the relatively “blank slate” male character; Aoki, who is the jocular “best friend” character; Yui, who looks (presumably unintentionally) identical to Asuna from Sword Art Online and is the “quiet girl”; Iori, who is the “loud, immature girl”; and Himeko, who is the “cold, aloof, mature girl”.

As you might expect from modern anime, however, none of these characters are quite what they appear to be at first glance. I shall resist spoiling exactly what’s up with each of them — because there is something “up” with all of them — but suffice to say that they all have plenty of hidden depth that is explored throughout the course of the series. The various supernatural happenings (which eventually extend beyond body-swapping) serve as a trigger for each of them to confront their various issues and discover their “true” selves — sometimes independently, but more often than not with the help of their friends.

Kokoro Connect is, at its core, a show about friendship and the way people can and/or should help each other through hardships. A key theme is whether or not you should always help someone when they’re hurting, or whether or not it would be more beneficial to let them work things out themselves in the long run. A question that is asked explicitly partway through the run, in fact, is whether or not you should hide from your problems (both individual and collective) or face them head-on, knowing full well that doing so will probably hurt both you and those around you.

It’s actually quite Persona-ish in many ways — specifically, it’s a lot like Persona 4, which is about people accepting themselves, including the parts they might not want to acknowledge. The supernatural aspect of Kokoro Connect is significantly toned down compared to Persona 4 and is never really adequately explained — a situation which may well be resolved in the four new episodes set to be released next year — but it doesn’t really matter. If it wasn’t there at all, these would still be interesting characters and interesting stories. (This does, of course, raise the question of why it’s there in the first place, but it does serve as a good catalyst for a number of subplots throughout the show’s run.)

If I had to critique the show specifically, I’d say that a couple of the characters’ “issues” are resolved a little too quickly and I would have liked to see some more time spent exploring them, but to be fair, no-one ever comes out and suggests that they’ve been magically “fixed” — the resolution of said issues tends to be of the “I think I know how I might be able to deal with this now” variety rather than anyone having a “magic bullet” to administer.

This aside, it’s a great watch with some very likeable characters who make up a good ensemble cast. There’s a nice balance of light-hearted comedy alongside the fairly serious issues the story tackles, and it isn’t afraid to depict high school kids like how high school kids actually are rather than the squeaky-clean paragons of virtue they’re sometimes portrayed as. (There’s a particularly toe-curling exchange of “secrets” between Taichi and Himeko at one point, but I’ll spare you the details.) This latter aspect is another thing that the Persona series was particularly good at, and it’s a big draw here, too.

All round, then, if you like character-driven stories that tackle personal issues with just a dash of the supernatural, then you should give it a shot. If you can get Crunchyroll where you are, you can do just that right here.

#oneaday Day 956: Knope

The great thing about Netflix — and the reason I was immensely joyful when it finally made its way to the UK — is that you can “take a chance” on TV shows you’ve never seen before without having to shell out for a DVD box set. (I realised the other day that I can’t remember the last time I bought a DVD. I’m not sure I will ever again, to be honest.) Trying out a new show is a simple matter of spotting it, clicking on it and giving it a shot for a few episodes to see if you like it.

So it was that I found myself starting to watch Parks & Recreation. I knew literally nothing about this show before I started watching it, so it was with total beginner’s mind that I jumped in.

Initially, I wasn’t quite sure what to think. It had that slightly awkward “comedy drama” feeling about it where you’re not quite sure if you’re supposed to laugh or not. I’m not a massive fan of laugh tracks these days — it’s funny to think that they used to be a fixture on popular shows — but sometimes it’s nice to have a cue as to when it’s “okay” to laugh.

After a little while, though, I started to “get” what the show was doing. I was supposed to feel awkward and uncomfortable. I hadn’t immediately twigged that the show was going for a The Office sort of vibe, but when I started watching it in that mindset, it became immediately a whole lot better. Since the first season, the show has seemingly successfully distinguished itself from The Office despite retaining the “docudrama” format. What this means in practice is that the characters in the show are free to break the fourth wall, address the camera and do lots of things that you otherwise wouldn’t be able to do in a more traditionally-shot show. At the same time, though, the format is somewhat subverted on occasion by characters doing “talking head” shots explaining what’s really going on in a scene and then being lambasted by another character who can hear what they’re going on about.

The show’s biggest strength is in these characters. Amy Poehler’s Leslie Knope is a strong lead, and her straight-laced nature is the perfect foil to the colourful, exaggerated characters that are her colleagues in the Parks and Rec department. It also means that when she does do something amusing, it has more impact.

Highlight of the show is clearly Ron-freakin’-Swanson, a mustachio’d gent who hired sullen summer intern April not for her secretarial skills, but for her total incompetence at dealing with other people, meaning that he never has to do any work. Frequently, we’ll see Ron in his office carving wood, weaving baskets or, in one memorable scene, using a typewriter he restored to “type every word I know”. Anything but work.

Not all of the characters are exaggerated caricatures, however. Rashida Jones’ Ann is another character whose understated, human performance inspires viewers to relate to and empathise with her. The way she uses casual idioms like “Dude…!” when talking to people gives her a very “real” feel, and her relative normality actually makes her stand out amid the rest of the cast.

To cut a long story short, despite thinking I was probably only going to watch a few episodes of the show, I’m now halfway through the third season with no intention of stopping. I’ve enjoyed it a great deal so far, and am looking forward to seeing more. If you haven’t checked it out before and are a fan of the awkward, slightly cringeworthy comedy of shows like The Office (particularly the original Ricky Gervais version) then you’ll find it an absolute hoot, I’m sure.

#oneaday Day 826: No Kind of Atmosphere

I’ve been watching Red Dwarf on Netflix recently. In the process I’ve discovered that there’s actually a hell of a lot of that series that I’d never seen before, so I’ve been delighted to (re)discover it.

Red Dwarf was one of those series that That One Guy At University Who Endlessly Quoted Things endlessly quoted. Well, perhaps not endlessly – sometimes he was quoting Blackadder. I’m only just now, some ten years later, coming around to the idea that I can actually watch those shows again without hearing That One Guy At University Who Endlessly Quoted Things’ voice in my head.

That’s beside the point though. And the point is that Red Dwarf is still an excellent series, for more reasons than one.

First up, it’s quite simply an excellent comedy series. The small cast of exaggerated characters makes for some excellent comic situations. The fact that all of the characters have at least one major flaw in their personalities is what makes them entertaining, too — Lister is arguably the closest we get to a “straight man” in the show, but even he’s flawed; he’s gross, he’s selfish and his reliance on curry as his primary form of sustenance doubtless makes him rather unpleasant to live with. Rimmer, meanwhile, is by turns arrogant and crippled by self-doubt; The Cat is vain to a fault; and Kryten has difficulty with acting independently when it conflicts with his programming. Put these dysfunctional characters together and you have a recipe for plenty of comic conflict.

The less-considered side of the show is that it’s actually a surprisingly decent sci-fi show, too. While it doesn’t have anywhere near the budget of what we might be used to from more recent titles — or even shows like Star Trek: The Next Generation, which ran at a similar time — it manages to convey a convincing feeling of what Life Is Like In The Future. The show doesn’t batter the audience over the head with lengthy descriptions of what things do or how they work; rather, it simply drops things into conversation that make it clear that we’re absolutely not on 21st century Earth any more.

Part of this comes from the show’s use of language. Its use of terms like “smeg”, “gimboid”, “goit” and numerous other faux-expletives was initially to get around the fact that it wasn’t okay to say certain things on television, but over time these words became part of the show’s identity. Numerous other shows have taken a similar approach since — Firefly features Chinese swearing, for example, while Battlestar Galactica features the multi-purpose invective “frak” at regular intervals. (It’s not clear how much Red Dwarf’s use of fake swear words influenced these titles, if at all.) Initially, the presence of these words is jarring as you wonder what they mean and why they’re not simply using regular expletives. But over time, as you become invested in the worlds created by the writers, you begin to let these words wash over you and enter your vocabulary even though, in most cases, they’re completely made up, portmanteau words or “loan words” from another language.

Ultimately, Red Dwarf succeeds due to the fact it never tries to get ideas above its station. It knows that it’s a low-budget sci-fi comedy with a small cast, and rarely attempts to deviate too much from that formula. Some may argue that the later seasons do deviate from this formula and are consequently weaker as a result, but having not (re)watched them yet, I’m not going to comment on that right now. One thing the show doesn’t do, however, is rest on its laurels; each season has its own distinctive identity, and it’s quite fascinating to see the changes it goes through as the years pass by and the budget increases.

It’s still great, then, in short, and if you’ve never had the pleasure of watching it, then you should check it out. It’s all on Netflix (in the UK, anyway), so be sure to check it out if you’re a member.

#oneaday Day 741: Glee – It’s a Feeling You Get When Your Brain Finally Lets Your Heart Get In Its Pants

I posted a short while ago that I had been watching Glee, and had found myself surprised that I was rather enjoying it. Like many other people (I imagine) I had certain preconceptions as to what the show would be about — misconceptions, as it happens. Misconceptions fuelled by media coverage of the phenomenon of “gleeks”, and endless playing of their version of Don’t Stop Believing on the radio.

Watching the show with an air of objectivity, i.e. having ignored most of the coverage about it because of my misconceptions it was cheesy and lame, has surprised and delighted me with its quality. I’m genuinely enjoying it — cheesy songs and all — and have come to care about the characters. As I’ve said on a number of occasions before, caring about the characters in something is the one thing that will keep me watching or playing something, even after said piece of media in question might have long outstayed its welcome with other people. And I can see how Glee could easily rub people up the wrong way. It’s an acquired taste, but one I have well and truly acquired with aplomb.

Glee is good at high school angst. Above all else, outside of all the cheesy songs and elaborate dance routines, it’s about teenage troubles. And some surprisingly weighty issues, too — I’d assumed that it would all be a bit Disney, judging by the saccharine, autotuned nature of the music. But in the space of the season and a quarter that I’ve watched so far, the show has taken in teen pregnancy, homosexuality, bullying, infidelity, abstinence, discrimination and a wealth of other topics, and it’s handled them all in a surprisingly sensitive manner. Most of the “dealing with” said issues involves singing a song that is tangentially related to the issue in question, but somehow this never seems too forced. Sure, if you’re going to go over it with a fine-tooth comb and pick apart exactly why a high school could never have the budget to pull off some of the productions they do, you’ll come away feeling slightly I satisfied by the whole experience. But accept it for what it is — a heavily stylised depiction of high school that blends realism with escapist fantasy — and there’s an incredibly satisfying, well-written and, at times, very touching show underneath.

It’s a show of great characters, too. Mr Shuester (or however you spell it) is a great lead. While there’s an element of “cheesy choir leader” about him by the nature of his character’s role, he’s a deep, interesting and flawed character who presents an interesting counterpoint to the colourful adventures of the teen stars. Sue Sylvester, too, makes a brilliant “villain”, and is all the more powerful for being a very complex, unpredictable character. It would have been easy to leave her as nothing but a heartless bitch, but even well into the second season, she continues to surprise.

Barring a few missteps early in season 2 — the themed episodes based on Britney Spears and the Rocky Horror Show were a bit silly in that they felt far too shoehorned in, even for a show about retrofitting pop songs to express your inner angst — the show is fairly consistently great. Said theme shows were followed up by some brilliant episodes, however, with the eighth entry of the second season providing one of the most genuinely moving moments I’ve seen in a TV show in recent years. (I shan’t spoil it for those who intend to watch it, but suffice to say for those who have seen it, it’s the bit where that song “You’re Amazing” is used, if that’s what that song is actually called. I’d check, but, you know, I can’t be arsed. You know the one I mean.)

I will be following Glee with interest as it continues — particularly as the high school nature of it means that the entire cast of kids will theoretically have to be replaced over the course of the next few seasons.

#oneaday Day 739: I’m Flickin’ Me Net

I mentioned it briefly yesterday, but I feel some good, old-fashioned enthusing about Netflix is in order. I know, I know, you American types have been enjoying its streamtastic charms for a very long time now, and us Brits have been watching enviously for the whole time (and occasionally trying to do clever things to see if we can get signed up) — but now, we have it too.

And it’s awesome.

As I’ve noted on some post back in the dim and distant history of this blog, I’m not huge on movies. It’s not that I don’t like them, it’s that I’d rather spend two hours at a time doing something else. I’m not sure why this is. Perhaps there’s something in my brain that sets me up to enjoy interactive, rather than passive entertainment — I’ll happily sit and play one game for hours at a time, after all. But that doesn’t explain why I might take a new TV show discovery and devour large proportions of a season at once (see: Community). That’s no more interactive than a film, and yet I have no qualms in doing that.

I think my main bugbear with movies has historically been their perceived “value” when buying them to put on your shelf. I have a bookcase in front of me at the time of writing — look, it’s over there — that is almost filled with DVDs. (The bottom two shelves are console games.) Of those DVDs, the only ones that I think I have watched more than once or twice are the TV show box sets. The movies I’ve kept around… well, I’m not sure why, really, since I certainly haven’t watched Human Traffic for a very long time, and my copy of Hot Fuzz actually remained shrink-wrapped for a considerable period, too (it was cheap in HMV, then it was on TV, so I didn’t really need to watch the DVD). I guess there’s some sort of curious feeling of “attachment” to many of these movies, like I remember the time I bought them and associate them with a particular period in my life. As such, it’s never really occurred to me to get rid of them, even though I rarely watch them.

The age of Netflix, however, has me rethinking this. Now for a few quid a month I have instant access (assuming I have an Internet connection) to a pretty huge library of movies and TV shows. Some are complaining that the selection is a little limited at this time — and perhaps it is if you’re a big film buff, but it’s certainly more than satisfactory for me at the moment. And the reason I mention the “perceived value” vs “time constraints” thing above is that I’ve been more than happy to just sit and watch a movie on Netflix, because I know that I haven’t spent £[x] on it, and have to feel obliged to enjoy it.

It’s the same for the TV shows, as it happens. I’ve been meaning to check out Twin Peaks for a very long time, for example — even more so since I played Deadly Premonition — but never got around to picking up the DVD set. It always seemed a bit expensive for something that was — to me, anyway — an unknown quantity. Would I like it? (As it happens, I love it, 90s hairstyles and all) Would it be worth the money, or would I be stuck wishing I’d spent my £[x] on something better?

This consideration is now irrelevant. Like Spotify allows me to check out music that I might not have felt inclined to buy outright, Netflix allows me to broaden my tastes in film and TV shows without any risk of feeling like I’ve wasted my money. And through the “creepy” (no it’s not) autoshare to Facebook facility, I have plenty of opportunity to check out what my friends are watching, start some discussions about it and become more “well read” in the media of TV and film.

So, then, fellow Brits; if you have a decent Internet connection and like watching people perform for you inside your TV, PC, iPad or iPhone, I suggest you get yourself signed up for a free trial. For me, it’s been worth it purely for the iPad compatibility — Netflix on iPad in bed has revolutionised insomnia.

#oneaday Day 738: Diversifying

In a recent blog post, one Ben Goldacre described Spotify’s auto-sharing behaviour as “creepy” and called for greater transparency in opt-out procedures. While I don’t disagree that users should have the option of whether or not to share what it is that they’re doing, I do disagree with the good Doctor’s assertion that showing off your tastes to others is somehow “creepy” or “wrong”.

The reason I don’t find it either of those things is because of discovery. Spotify is built in such a manner that it’s easy to check out an artist or album you’re unfamiliar with in a risk-free environment. You don’t drop any money on the album directly, so if you wind up hating it, you haven’t lost out. And if you end up loving it, you can whack it in a playlist or star it for future reference.

Combine this ease of trying things outside of your usual comfort zone with social features and you get a powerful tool to expand your own tastes. Because music is an ever-present part of society these days — silence, it seems, is frowned upon by most people, particularly those of more tender years — conversations about what artists are awesome are less common than they once were in the age of buying CDs (and, heaven forbid, cassettes). Music is just there for many people — a disposable thing that people may well have a strong connection to but perhaps don’t always think to actually discuss,

What Spotify’s sharing feature does is allow you to see what friends have been listening to and, if it takes your fancy, jump right in there and have a listen yourself. I’ve discovered more than a few new favourites this way, and I’m certain other people will have been curious about some of my tastes too. I don’t have any objection to people seeing what I’ve been listening to and I’m certainly not ashamed of it. The same is true for Netflix, newly launched in the UK and nicely integrated with Facebook to allow you to share what you’re watching. On the whole, I’m much more inclined to pay attention to new releases if my friends are enjoying them rather than if they’re simply “critically acclaimed”. See: The Squadron of Shame

Goldacre suggests that people will make judgements based on what you have been listening to, and your playlists which, if you weren’t already aware, are made public by default. And perhaps people will — but the attitude I have always taken with personal taste is that it is just that: personal. If you’re the sort of person who ridicules someone else just because of what music they listen to, how they dress, or their appearance… I probably don’t really want to know you. Everyone is free to make their own choices with regard to what entertains them (unless, you know, if you’re into something fucked up and illegal) and so people should not feel ashamed or embarrassed to share what it is that they have been enjoying.

In fairness, it’s entirely possible that there is the scope for cyber-bullying among schoolkids based on what they might have been listening to with Spotify, or the content of their playlists. But there’s the scope for cyber-bullying based on their photos, their status updates, all the other stuff that’s on Facebook, too. This isn’t excusing it. However, it does mean that Spotify itself isn’t some sort of creepy bully-magnet. As with all forms of social media and teens interacting with others on the Web, it’s important for parents to be involved and aware of what their offspring are up to. If it looks like causing a problem, they should be familiar with the options that are there to protect people — and Spotify has those options if, for whatever reason, sharing things does become a problem. But someone’s listening habits are public by default — and why shouldn’t they be? There’s nothing to be ashamed of there.

Perhaps I have a naïve view of social media and sharing information on the Web. But I just don’t see how sharing your entertainment consumption is particularly harmful. Sharing deeply personal information, yes. But the fact that you listened to the Lazy Town soundtrack today? For me, that’s the start of an interesting conversation, not something creepy.

#oneaday Day 723: The Escapist

Escapism is cool, and an important and valid method of keeping yourself sane.

There are, of course, many means of escapism, and different ones are more or less effective for different people.

There’s the escapism of a child giving life to the inanimate lumps of plastic they own. Without a child, they’re just potential, models, things to be looked at, without life. Add a child (or, more specifically, someone still in possession of their childish imagination) and something magical happens — those objects come alive, engaging in battles to save the galaxy; heroic adventures; or even just a normal day in a normal street.

Then there’s the escapism of a good book. Good readers also have one of the most important qualities of a good creative writer: that active imagination again. But it’s partly also down to the writer to create a convincing world, compelling characters and a reason for the reader to commit part of their life to staring at tiny print on paper, e-ink or an LCD display. You know a writer’s done their job properly if you can hear the characters’ voices, see the places they’re in, picture the things they’re doing. And as a reader, your interpretation and mental imagery might not be the same as the writer (or indeed the person who designed the book’s cover) — but that doesn’t make it any less valid.

There’s the escapism of interactive entertainment. Instead of passively observing an unfolding story, you become a part of it. It doesn’t have to be an explicit narrative as such — a long game of Civilization tells a story just as much as a chapter of Heavy Rain. The meaning the player chooses to assign to the experience is what makes interactive entertainment special.

There’s the escapism of film. Increasingly designed as memorable spectacles these days, a good movie plunges its audience into darkness before casting them into a whole new world. It could be a world of giant robots; of CIA agents; of lads on a pulling holiday. For those couple of hours, though, the outside world ceases to matter.

There’s the escapism of a good TV show. When you find a show that resonates with you, you want to stick with those characters, to find out what makes them tick, what they want, what they find challenging. You cheer for their successes, feel bad when they encounter adversity. And given the amount of time you spend with the cast of a TV show over an average run of a moderately successful show these days, it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that the cast might feel like “friends” by the time you’re through.

And there’s the escapism of music. Music is a powerful imaginative stimulus, but again it means different things to different people. For one person it might stir up dormant memories. For another it might encourage them to close their eyes and picture themselves in a whole new situation. For yet another it might have an emotional impact that reflects the things that are weighing on their mind at that moment in time. And for others still it might inspire them to push forward, to do their best, to power on through and do that extra set at the gym, or put in that extra bit of effort at homework.

All this isn’t even getting into what it means to be a creator as opposed to a consumer of all the above media, either.

The fact is, the world can be, at times, a bit of a sucky place. Having something comforting to escape into, whatever form that escapism might take, is important. No-one likes to feel trapped, so even if it’s only for a short while, escape into something awesome and return to the real world refreshed, invigorated and ready to tackle any challenges it might want to throw at you.

And if you don’t have anything like that? Then you need to have more fun.

#oneaday Day 721: We’re Gonna Live Forever, We’re Gonna Sleep Together

I have a confession to make. I enjoy musicals and, by extension, musical episodes of TV shows.

No, whatever social stereotypes might have you believe, this is not a euphemistic way of coming out as a homosexual. It is simply a statement of a fact: I appreciate musicals, in all their gloriously cheesy, camp glory.

After watching the entire series of Community, I realised that I had enjoyed the various musical numbers that pepper the series on both ironic “haha, musical” and non-ironic “hey, I’m actually genuinely enjoying this” levels simultaneously. Come on, you can’t say that this isn’t one of the catchiest songs you’ve ever heard.

I had a similar experience with the Buffy the Vampire Slayer musical episode, which is, to date, one of my favourite episodes of any TV show, ever. And a YouTube comment just reminded me that it’s ten years old. Jesus. Anyway:

And this isn’t even getting into South Park: Bigger, Longer, Uncut, which is both a brilliant parody and a genuinely brilliant musical at the same time. Here’s my personal highlight from it, clear evidence that Trey Parker and Matt Stone have watched and enjoyed Les Miserables at some point in their lives:

After some consideration of all this, I figured that it was about time I checked out Glee. My only experience of Glee to date has been hearing the songs on the radio and, the first time I heard what they’d done to Journey’s Don’t Stop Believin’, wanting to kill them all, as tends to happen when I hear cover versions that really aren’t a patch on the original.

Having watched a few episodes of the show now, though, I get it. Glee‘s music isn’t intended to be listened to in isolation. Its overly-processed, super-cheesy, unconvincingly mimed numbers are meant to be watched as much as listened to, with intricate dance routines, cheesy montages and, in some cases, comically overwrought facial expressions. And when watching one of these numbers, it would take a hard-hearted soul to not crack at least a fragment of a smile.

Why, though?

It’ll likely be different for different people, but from my perspective, here’s what I’ve enjoyed so far — about both Glee and musicals in general.

I find them a satisfying experience to watch and to listen to. It’s difficult to pin down exactly what I mean by that, but let me attempt to explain. It’s to do with a sense of “fullness”, or all your senses being bombarded with something that is infused with emotion, however false it might be. In some senses, the exaggerated, stylised nature of musicals means that they’re a very “pure” art form — they’re light on the subtlety and heavy on the audience cues for how they should be feeling. It’s the exact opposite of the sort of movie where everyone mumbles and no-one moves their facial muscles more than the absolute minimum required to form words.

This “fullness” extends to the sound of the music, too. Autotune is, generally speaking, a great evil, particularly when overused, but when used effectively it can add a degree of richness and otherworldly “perfection” to a voice — particularly if said voice is then harmonised to high heaven. If you want to know what I’m talking about and own an iPhone, then go download the free Glee Karaoke app and sing the Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star tutorial song when no-one else is around. Then tell me that hearing yourself harmonised in that beautifully rich, inhumanly perfect manner isn’t at least a little bit satisfying. It sounds artificial, sure, but the very nature of musicals is that they should be stylised. It’s not just visuals which can be stylised, after all — there’s nothing to say you can’t make a human voice sound somewhat… well… inhuman.

Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t me turning my back on “real”, “gritty” or “authentic” music. I’ve always had something of a soft spot for cheesy music, and music from musicals scratches that itch very effectively. Seeing as how Glee combines both cheesy music with one of my favourite “guilty pleasures” in TV and movies — high school drama — I’ll be giving the series a bit more of a chance. Coming to it with “beginners’ mind” and without the media hysteria that seemed to accompany it when it first burst onto the scene, I feel like I can enjoy it somewhat objectively. It won’t appeal to everyone, for sure, but it’s certainly providing me with some pleasing entertainment for the immediate future.

#oneaday Day 719: Being a Further Missive on the Excellence of Community (the Televisual Entertainment Programme, Not the Social Concept)

I’ve now watched every currently-available episode of Community, in some cases more than once. And doing so has confirmed the show as a new favourite, ranked right up with Spaced and some of the best of recent British comedy.

(I’m going to get mildly spoilery at various points throughout the next few paragraphs, so if you care about that sort of thing, then stop reading now.)

Here’s why Community is so wonderful, then.

First up, it strikes the perfect balance between the mundane and the absurd. The main cast’s backstories are all somewhat tragic and quite serious in some cases, but the situations into which they all get are frequently bizarre, odd and downright hilarious. But when the time comes to drop the stupidity and “be serious” for a moment, the show always manages to do so with dignity and without feeling overly “preachy”. Jeff’s speeches are a predictable part of the show — so much so that the characters even reference them on regular occasions — but they often provide a good amount of “closure”, either to an episode, or to one act at least. In some ways, it’s like South Park, with bizarre, frequently borderline-offensive humour punctuated by material which is making a point — be it satire, moralising or simple observations on life.

Secondly, the characters themselves are interesting and well-defined. They all have two specifically-identifiable features: a character trait and their appearance. Every character has their own unique way of responding to the situations the group comes across, and every character has their own unique, instantly recognisable look. This isn’t to say they become predictable, however (Jeff’s speeches notwithstanding) — on a number of occasions we find out more about them when they don’t do what we expect.

Britta is a particularly good example of this. In the first episode, she’s introduced as “the hot girl”, the impossibly beautiful eye candy whom all the male viewers would very much like to… well, you know. Jeff (the impossibly beautiful eye candy whom all the female viewers would very much like to… etc) wants to get into her pants, so he sets up the fake study group, thereby setting up the whole series. It’d be easy for the show to have been all about those two, with both Jeff and Britta remaining somewhat shallow, predictable characters. But any time we see Britta making the hideous social faux pas that she becomes known for (“turning it into a snake!”), we suddenly have sympathy for her. She’s no longer the unattainably attractive perfect blonde girl, she’s a human. Jeff finds himself the subject of similar sympathy on a number of occasions throughout, though generally not for making social faux pas.

Thirdly, and continuing on the subject of the cast, the chemistry between them is excellent, and a real highlight of the show. The show doesn’t make a big deal out of the blossoming, budding, potential relationships among the group — it’s somewhat more natural, and that’s what makes it all the more powerful. Every stolen glance, hint of a smile, lingering hug — it all adds up and makes each and every relationship feel real, and you’re right there with them, feeling that “will they/won’t they” feeling as if you were the one hoping to steal a kiss from your favourite. It’s a far cry from Ross and Rachel, anyway — there’s no angst, no whining, no “on-off-break” drama, just realistic, adult relationships between people who are convincingly awkward about such things.

Jeff and Annie’s relationship throughout the show is a particular highlight, and this was a surprise for me as I watched each episode for the first time. I was expecting the show to focus on Jeff trying to convince Britta that he was worth bothering with, but in fact the relationship which seems to be explored the most is that between Jeff and Annie — and it’s between these two that the on-screen chemistry is so utterly compelling. When the first season ends with that kiss between the two of them after all the drama with Britta and Professor Slater, it’s a surprise, but a welcome one. There’s a lot of subtle setup prior to this point, with things looking like they were coming to a head with the “debate” episode, but then tailing off as the two seemed to think it’d be “wrong” somehow — largely due to the age gap between them.

As of the time of writing, whatever electricity is between them hasn’t been fully resolved, and there’s growing tension between Troy and Britta, too. It’ll be interesting to see how these are developed when (not “if”, at last!) the show returns later in the spring.

It’s not all about the main cast, though. A big part of the humour in the show comes from its supporting actors, too. While we don’t learn a lot about Leonard, for example, we do pick up a number of nuggets of information during his brief appearances and a memorable shot of his frozen pizza reviews YouTube channel in the credits of one late episode. The Dean, conversely, gets plenty of screen time and we get to know quite a bit about this character. Initially appearing to be something of a predictable camp, gay stereotype, we gradually come to discover his hidden nuances, particularly in later episodes, with it all coming to a head (no pun intended) with his revelations in the episode where he shoots the new Greendale commercial.

And all this isn’t even getting into the wonderful “special” episodes. The paintball episodes, the Dungeons and Dragons episode, the stop-motion Christmas special, the spectacular anime sequences in the fussball episode, the Glee episode which rounded out the first half of the third season — some of the most memorable moments in TV right there. But I digress.

The sign of a good show of this type is if you’d want to hang out with the characters in your own time. And I can say with some certainty that if I had the opportunity to join that study group, I’d do so in a heartbeat. Sure, I’d probably fail every exam I took, but I’d have formed some of the most memorable friendships of my life.

The cast and crew of the show have done an astonishingly good job on creating one of the best shows in recent years. I hope against hope it isn’t made to die before its time due to its apparently poor ratings — but at least fans can take comfort from the fact that the show has been confirmed to be returning to complete its third season in the spring of this year. Beyond that, who knows?

Would that this desk were a Time Desk, so I could travel forward to the future and see if it runs for six seasons and a movie…