Matthew Broderick returns to explain that, sometimes, mocking a politician makes them seem more comedic and less horrifying.
In 30 Rock’s prime, it successfully served as a live-action answer to The Simpsons on a weekly basis. Like the groundbreaking animated comedy, Tina Fey’s vehicle combined the absurdist, joke-a-minute, cut-away-gag-heavy technique that left audiences stifling laughter so as not to miss the next joke with a real emotional heart behind each installment. Liz Lemon’s struggles in and out of the office resonated with women and men alike across the nation, even if they didn’t have to manage Tracy Jordan on a daily basis.
But, much like The Simpsons, 30 Rock’s evolution more closely resembled stale beer than fine wine. The problem with aging TV shows typically resides in a complacent writers’ room. Seasons five and six of the three-time Outstanding Comedy Award winner recycled tired plots and rehashed character idiosyncrasies, adhering to the mindset that what was funny once will be funny again. As the show learned, repeating character traits can become grating. The endless quirkiness of Jenna and the hopelessness of Pete turned characters who audiences were once emotionally invested in into mere caricatures. Kenneth, once a yellow-haired, big-eyed TV fanatic, lost his sense of self and became the embodiment of the stereotyped South, a machine that spit out hackneyed one-liners.
So how do TV shows avoid the looped track 30 Rock found itself in? By constantly moving forward and developing its ensemble. Or, exactly what 30 Rock has done with its strong start to its seventh and final season.
Last night’s “Governor Dunston” saw each Rockefeller Plaza staple moving in a specific, progressive direction, and the wild diversity of where they’re headed speaks to the weird, awesome New York Fey has developed.
Jack’s arc, the most innovative if not the most empathetic, sees him attempting, Springtime for Hitler-style, to tank NBC’s ratings in order to get Kabletown boss Hank Hooper to sell the network before he retires and hands it off to a family member. This leads to my favorite running joke of the short season, as Jack’s ideas of failed TV shows and ridiculous plot maneuvers mirror the inanity that we actually see on the air. (And really, allowing Jimmy Fallon to speak in his “real voice” is inspired, and ?uestlove’s disbelieving face clinched the joke.)
Fearful of biting political commentary yielding good ratings and unwilling to besmirch his political party, Jack’s rigid conservatism will not allow the episode’s namesake, Gov. Dunston, to be mocked on TGS. The character, who’s a weird amalgamation of Sarah Palin and Mitt Romney, is Romney’s new choice for vice president (as Paul Ryan’s secretly a Kenyan, obviously) and Dunston cannot help but continually embarrass himself with gaffe after pants-ripping gaffe. Fey, who tends to write about what she knows – so, herself – has borrowed from her good fortunes of looking just like Palin, and Gov. Dunston, played by Tracy Morgan, happens to look and sound exactly like Tracy Jordan. What was comedy fodder for Saturday Night Live is now comedy fodder for TGS.
And just like NBC capitalizing on its Palin lookalike, Kabletown sees a dramatic ratings spike from Tracy’s Dunston when Liz skirts Jack’s orders of writing material about the governor. She didn’t write anything, she explains – TGS just let Tracy repeat Dunston’s words verbatim. The ratings boon that follows is ruinous for Jack; Hooper orders TGS five days per week, and the network he’s trying to drown is breathing again, while his political party is being regularly skewered.
The political angle backfires for Liz, though. Jack discovers from ever baby-faced Matthew Broderick that Tracy’s imitation of Dunston has humanized the governor, and audiences now find him viable. The ratings are still sky high, so the two face a classic “win-lose” situation: Aid Romney’s campaign by continuing to air Tracy’s impersonations and help the network, or show support to Obama’s campaign by pulling the material, all-but killing Kabletown and forcing Hooper to sell.
In the climax, Liz, who is far enough along – seven seasons, in fact – to curtail her ethical values for money, tells Tracy to get in front of the camera and do his thing.
As high as the stakes are for Kabletown, Liz, the ostensible lead, carries the other significant subplot with more personal matters to worry about. As in literally every other season, she’s still trading jabs with Jack, getting humiliated in the writers’ room and dealing with problems in the bedroom. She’s had her ups and mostly downs throughout the series without much progression, as the writers were hesitant to let her be either too successful or too downtrodden. But, the final thematic thrust for ol’ Liz Lemon is particularly rewarding for theaudience who has followed her through dates with 20-year-olds, Islander fans and unknown cousins; she’s finally ready to have a child. (Mentally, at least.) She and beau Criss (which pains me to write) have been “taking the dump truck to the bone yard most nights.” However, the business-like manner of the baby-making has extinguished the spark in the relationship.
Criss is doing his part; he shows up at her office, he writes her a song. (I still find “Your body is my garden of Eden” preferable to John Mayer’s “Wonderland.”) Liz, not accustomed to such regular and purposeful sex, needs to get back to basics. While not exactly the most original subplot, it reaches a surprisingly ironic conclusion, as business must release her from business-like sex. She begins organizing her calendar, and finds herself more turned on with each new person on her calendar she color coordinates. Soon enough, she’s back at her apartment ripping off Criss’s shirt. (“Hey! That was $10!”)
A mostly forgettable “C” plot involving Kenneth discovering his oft-mentioned Mom’s friend Ron is indeed his step-father is rescued by a great bit of casting in Catherine O’Hara and Bryan Cranston as his parents. Cranston, in a role more akin to a southern Hal from Malcolm in the Middle than Walt, the chemistry teacher turned meth cook on Breaking Bad, steals the few scenes he’s given. And allowing Kenneth a family-centric plot may help redeem his character, as his recasting as a yokel in the later seasons has damaged a once novel personality.
Cranston’s and O’Hara’s roles also influence Jenna’s arc. While she’s mostly sidelined this week, she sows seeds for the rest of the season when she discovers that Kenneth’s parents actually buy CDs. Her summertime hit “Balls,” which is as deep as its title, amounted to a $90 check. So, if she’s going to make money with her career, she’s going to market to “unhappy, middle-aged bummers.”
Jenna, inspired, foolishly asks Ron to play her some music. His folksy down-home, if creepy, tunes are immediately quashed by Jenna, only for Kenneth to come to the rescue of his step-father. They are, after all, family.
When viewers watch 30 Rock, or any TV show for that matter, that’s what they’re tuning in for: Family. These are an eclectic group of people who we flip on whenever we want to hang out with them. Viewers and TV shows have a personal relationship, which is what made seasons six and seven so frustrating. Our family wasn’t the same lovable bunch it had been the past five years.
I’m happy to report the chaotic, psychotic, endearing family of misfits of 30 Rock is back.
Tidbits:
–“Great, so we had sex for no reason! No reason at all!”
–“Pears?! Why?!”
–“Look, Ken. I’m just trying to replace your dad.”
–“This is terrible. I’ve never gone this long without talking.”
–“If you’re only in New York for a few days, find a way to see Amar’e Stoudemire’s penis. It’s worth it.”
–“Don’t even bother lawyering up. I’ll have my Jews on you so fast you’ll think you’re an Asian girl.”
–“Tracy, break a leg.” “That shouldn’t be hard. I have a severe calcium deficiency.”
—The Simpsons subverted popular TV and film tropes better than any show ever has, but turning the sudden, reignited passion plot on its head with Liz pouring white-out on a shirtless Criss in an aisle at Staples as Tracy Jordan’s wavering R&B voice serenades the couple is delightfully unexpected.
–At my count, Jenna’s anthem “Balls” mentions its titled fun circular toys/men’s unspeakables 24 times in eight seconds. For reference, Big Sean proudly raps “ass” in “Dance (Ass)” 15 times in nine seconds. Journalism, everyone.
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