Monsters of Television

“It has been a while since my bottom half smiled.”

I haven’t seen this much dread in critics’ reviews of a show since Whitney was telling us about marriages and sweatpants

And rightfully so. Much like the maligned Whitney, Are You There, Chelsea?, one of several female-led series this cycle to have a ridiculous name change to save our children (usually from bad words they probably already know), offered very little content for me to look forward to. In fact, it offered more fodder to fuel the flames of war. Nerdy TV war. Where using a gambit like “quality TV” will derail a conversation faster than saying “relative” to philosophy student climbing up the walls to use his degree for something.

I’ll admit upfront that I’ve never read the book or paid much attention to the life of Chelsea Handler beyond the occasional episode of Chelsea Lately and whatever vitriol Ralph Garman erupted during his tirades on Hollywood Babble-On before Kevin Smith self-promoted himself into a full network unsubscribe (if interested, I committed my thoughts on finally abandoning Kevin Smith to the interweb). So anything outside of Handler hosting a show on E! and considering the rumors of her sleeping her way onto the airwaves is news to me. Oh, and I think she dated 50 Cent.

What this means is that I come to a show presumably based on Chelsea Handler’s life relatively fresh. I know her style of comedy and I know this show can’t possibly be worse than Whitney. Ha. Right? … right?

Let’s talk about the good thing: how much we like Laura Prepon on television. I don’t care if she ever has a stable movie career because she’s one of the best multi-camera treasures we have. Of course she’s easy to watch and has a telegenic presence that dominates a scene but she also looks natural. So many multi-camera ensambles play out a joke and it looks like all the actors in the scene relax before building up to the next punchline. Shows come off feeling like vignettes with a similar theme and location. Because of how natural Prepon is within her storyworld, her reactions and segues between punchlines and set-ups give scripts that would otherwise sound stilted and full of cracks a continuity to a show in spite of the bored writers and producers that slapped this shitshow together.

She also brings a tenderness and sensitivity to a character that, if played by even Handler herself, would be crass and unlikeable. For example, she moves in with a woman the dallies in an innocent world forever postered by Tiger Beat and probably some Lisa Frank. Chelsea (the character) speaks of her positively, saying she’s great (in her own skewed-view way) and that she should stay the same forever. There are a lot of people that could deliver those lines with vinegar and immediately ostracize the character as fringe in Chelsea’s vodka-and-sarcasm-fueled universe. But Prepon is able to temper her hard-edged personality at the bar and in jail with a sweetness that is accommodating. No one is left out. She’s a natural.

Which is what this show needs because it has nothing else going for it. I don’t mind the crass jokes as much as others might. In fact, I like that women on broadcast television are more recently being given license to free themselves from nagging significant other or quirky neighbor and talk about things like face-wads and red bush. Men have been able to discuss any number of degrading things for years. What I don’t appreciate is having to suffer through poor setups and bad storytelling to get there. Unacceptable.

The show starts off with unnecessary voice-over that I can only hope won’t continue beyond this episode. There’s very little about media that I can stand less than being told something I already see. Why would you tell me this is supposed to be your very pregnant sister, especially when you hit me with ham-handed lines like, “I’m 39 months pregnant and my husband is in Afghanistan and you’re the one that’s supposed to drive me to the hospital”? Combined with the unfunny flashbacks that don’t really serve much for character development as much as they are ways to break up a long scene, it’s like a wasteland of crutches. Maybe I just think this because Chelsea works in a bar but maybe, when constructing the show, people more often should’ve asked themselves, “What would Cheers do?” You know what they wouldn’t do? Use that clown joke twice.

And, because there are so many crutches I picture writers room looking like a chorus of aged Tiny Tims, it’s all the more frustrating that there’s no story. There are suggestions of arcs but the episode doesn’t really say anything cohesive. A list of the things that are happening: sister is pregnant and gives birth, Chelsea wants to make changes in her life, Chelsea moves into a new apartment, Chelsea dates a guy with red hair, Chelsea gets a DUI. Any one of those topics should provide an episode’s worth of material for an A-story at least. Instead none of them are treated well and they’re all slammed together in an emotionally-numb collection of punchlines. And it made this episode SO LONG. Although I did learn a lot of information about the characters and situations in 20 minutes, it felt like Jeff Zucker came back to arbitrarily super-size NBC shows to our doom. It’s amazing how much information they packed in. And it took The Cape two hours to wander through its premise. It’s arguable that the latter is any more complicated.

Again, I’ve never read the book but I get the feeling that some of this is partially the fault of adaptation. Instead of just taking the characters and creating something relatively new that hints at the book, the language of the voiceovers and the flashbacks tips that these are passages from the source material. I’m not going to speculate for what their plan is after the first few episodes but they need to get off the book tip quick. Not enough people read and liked the book, let alone became super-fans, to keep this show afloat. Then again, it is on NBC. So three or four folks that picked it up from Barnes & Noble for 40% off might make a difference.

Aside from some reaching meta-analysis about how Chelsea Handler plays her own sister (an angle that a psych or film academic could probably explore better than me), I don’t see anything of value in this show that could make it stand out other than maybe being superior to its hour-mate Whitney. And that’s only because Whitney is the black-hole from which funny can’t escape. They’re some sharper writing, better storytelling, and independent exploration away from being late-seasons of The Office. Except not as clever (burn!).

PS: Whitney never did clear up what they meant by marriages ending up in sweatpants. Like marriages split up when you’re not dressed up? Or that people get really comfortable and wear give-ups when they’re not single. Or — oh, I get it. That’s the gag, isn’t it? Oh man. OH MAN. I’m dying!