nygrl, that's how I feel about it, as well. Interestingly, this week the New Yorker's TV critic, in a piece on sitcoms and a review of Parks and Recreation in particular, said some similar, but briefer, things:
atching “Modern Family” sweep the Emmys, last month, I felt a spike of fury. I knew that this was an absurdly out-of-proportion response: just three years ago, the show struck me as charming and innovative, a mixture of old-style family comedy and modern mockumentary. The story of a blended family in California, it included stepparents, adoption, a gay marriage, and a May-December interracial couple. I was relieved to be able to love a sitcom that was also a hit, its demographic reach spanning TV nerds and third graders, Romneys and Obamas alike.
But, as the seasons passed, my doubts grew. Beneath that dewy skin, “Modern Family” has some surprisingly retro bones. Were we really supposed to root for Jay, a wealthy codger grumbling at his trophy wife, Gloria? Isn’t it a little creepy how Jay’s ex-wife was first demonized, and then disappeared? What differentiates Gloria from a nineteen-sixties coochie-coo stereotype, aside from the charisma of the actress who plays her—and is it really that hilarious to portray a poor Latino birth family as telenovela characters? Do Mitch and Cam, the gay couple, even like each other? What’s with all those women-getting-their-period jokes? When I squint and reimagine “Modern Family” as a harsh multi-cam series rather than an urbane mockumentary, its gags tend to shrivel like slugs under salt.
A decade ago, I might not have minded: the Emmys are nonsense, and better to have a sweet sitcom, whatever its flaws, win than a sour one. But low expectations no longer make sense, not when the sitcom is exploding with possibilities. This is true even if you disregard the remarkable comedies on cable, which include “Girls,” “Louie,” “Curb Your Enthusiasm,” “Archer,” “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia,” and “Enlightened.” These shows are transcendently cool, and often more experimental than the dramas that surround them, but they’re made under very different circumstances: dozen-episode seasons, creative independence, and lower pressure for ratings. From my (admittedly specific) perspective, America’s greatest heroes are its network sitcom writers, at least the good ones, those who make shows like “Parks and Recreation”—which I’ll come back to in a moment, if you’ll indulge a bit more ranting. Sure, they’re well compensated, but, creatively speaking, they’re coal miners: producing twenty-two or more episodes each season, bombarded with network notes, harassed with overnight numbers. Maybe there should be a special award—the Emmy for originality under duress.
Read more
http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/television/2012/10/22/121022crte_television_nussbaum#ixzz2ABI7WTPT
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