There was a throw-away line in Molly Lambert's contribution to Grantland.com's latest Youtube Hall Fame installment that I thought was very interesting: "Let's face it," she wrote. "The '90s were our '60s."
And how true. I remember the first time I became conscious of "the 90s" as an actual phenomenon. It was the summer of 1991 and I just graduated from grade school. My brother rented a Betamax tape with the title "Pump Up the Volume". It starred a couple of young unknowns named Christian Slater and Samantha Mathis. Released in 1990, the movie opened with a line that might as well have opened the decade: "Do you ever get the feeling that everything in America is completely fucked up?" Those were the words of Mark Hunter, a.k.a "Hard Harry" - quiet high school geek by day and incendiary underground radio DJ by night.
Like the 90s, "Pump Up the Volume" is embarassingly earnest and pubescent in retrospect (Hard Harry: "I don't mind being dejected and rejected, but I'm not going to be ashamed about it. At least pain is real. I mean, you look around and you see nothing is real, but at least the pain is real.") However, as an anthropological document, it is immensely important. While the flower children of the 60s fought for equality and freedom from (perceived) tyranny, the 90s slackers fought for something far more abstract and elusive: purpose. We wanted our lives and the world to mean something. "Pump Up the Volume" marked the first ever conscious expression of this "fight" in 90s mainstream popular culture, years before "Reality Bites", the Alternative Music explosion, and most importantly, Nirvana. And when I watched it at age 12 (and listened to its soundtrack and heard Henry Rollins and Sonic Youth for the very first time), it was the most awesome thing ever.
If the 90s were our 60s, then a case could be made that the 80s are our default decade. Consider the cultural trajectory of the last half of the 20th century: the homogeny and consumerism of the 50s; the reactionary rebellion and anti-consumerism of the 60s and 70s; the re-emergence of homogeny and consumerism, tempered by a tolerance, if co-opting of fringe culture in the 80s; and then the 90s: an accelerated version of the previous decades where the rebellion and idealism of Generation X was quickly co-opted by the mainstream consumerist culture as early as 1994. Hence the 21st century so far: the 80s revisited; complete with its colorful clothes and typography.
This also has another, less obvious implication. Where the 80s had middle-aged ex-hippies, we now have middle-aged ex-Gen-Xers (or perhaps, just "Gen-Xers", since their birthdates have not changed). And who are left to give their unique Gen-X take on midlife crisis? Pearl Jam's still together, but Lord knows what Eddie Vedder's singing about these days. The world is still waiting for Richard Linklater's French New Wave-inspired film about middle age (a "Dazed and Confused" class reunion, perhaps?). After Alternative Rock and Independent Cinema carried the torch during the generation's heyday, who better to pick up the pieces than its comedians?
TNT's "Men of a Certain Age" and FX's "Louie" are among the best shows in TV today not named "Breaking Bad" or "Mad Men". Not only do these shows prove that comedians can produce and star in their own comedy series minus the laugh tracks, but they also offer a peek at middle-aged life in the post-postmodern world. It's not at all shocking that the two people who are up to the task also happen to be two of the most cynical comedians of the 90s, a decade known for its cynicism. For middle-aged Gen-Xers Ray Romano and Louis CK, the quest for meaning has been one long hilarious lost cause.
As far as sensibilities go, Ray Romano and Louis CK inhabit different planets. Romano is the mild-mannered, shy, and awkward suburban neighbor, while CK is the potty-mouthed, opinionated, acerbic loner from the city. Romano is Disney; CK is Sundance. Both earned their first TV starring roles playing their own versions of the disillusioned family man, but Romano's "Everybody Loves Raymond" aired on network TV for nine seasons while CK's "Lucky Louie" aired on basic cable for one season before getting cancelled. I'm not even sure if they've ever met.
However, Ray Romano's "Men of a Certain Age" and Louis CK's "Louie" are peas in the same "Paradise Lost" pod. Both comedy series portray Gen-X middle-aged life with heartfelt honesty and pathos.
In "Men of a Certain Age", Romano plays Joe - a party store owner, divorced father of two, and gambling junkie. This wasn't exactly how he envisioned things as a young man with aspirations for a pro golfing career. But he gets by everyday with a little help from his equally disillusioned friends - Terry (played by Scott Bakula), the commitment-phobic failed actor; and Owen (played by Andre Baugher), the heir to a doomed auto dealership.
One of the more poignant aspects of the show is Joe's almost Cassandra complex-like empathy towards his teenaged children. TV parents of generations past act as behavior-correctors (think Steven and Elyse Keaton of "Family Ties"); wise older people who hand out advice based on their experiences. Joe, on the other hand, is too self-aware to think he knows "the right thing to do". And it's this honesty that compromises his ability as a parent (at least in the traditional sense).
In one episode, Joe comes home early and catches a teenaged boy peeing naked in the bathroom. It turns out his sweet little daughter has brought home a "friend" for some afternoon delight (Joe will get that reference). In previous generations, that girl would've been grounded for months and would've been forbidden to "see any boys". But Joe is more hurt by the realization of her daughter growing up rather than by anything she's done. When she gets heartbroken, he doesn't tell her what she should feel or think; he just wants to make sure that she's alright. The closest he gets to becoming an advisor is with his daughter's obsessed ex-boyfriend, to whom he says, "Sometimes you gotta feel as bad as you can before you feel better". And it wasn't even advice on what to do, it was more like a warning of how things are, that people of all ages are powerless over the same things that happen in life, things like heartbreak.
"Louie" may be the most vulgar and absurdist comedy series ever produced but it explores truths with greater honesty than the standard sitcom fare. It's loosely auto-biographical, based on Louis CK's real life as a comedian and, like Joe, a divorced father of two. Yet, weird things keep happening in this show, and not just "weird" weird, but never-before-seen-on-TV weird. Louie has seen a homeless man's head roll off after getting hit by a truck, has kissed a well-meaning southern policeman, has had a one night stand with a woman who likes being spanked while crying "I'm sorry, daddy!", and has made love to Joan Rivers.
Louis CK's comedy is steeped in pessimism (one of his best stand-up quotes: "That's what optimistic means: stupid. An optimist is someone who goes, 'maybe something nice will happen'. Why the fuck would anything nice ever happen?"). Yet because his comedy skews so extremely to the absurd and the negative, his rare moments of joy with his two daughters feel so jarring and real. Two of his most depressing episodes from season 1 ended with him being so happy and relieved to be with his two daughters. That's what I was reminded of in the season 2 finale of "Men of a Certain Age", where Joe, after he thought he lost his bid to qualify for the Senior Golf Tournament said to his friend Terry: "I thought I needed this, but I don't think I do. Did you see Albert and Lucy (his two kids) out there today? That's enough. It should be."
Because we've been whining and getting disillusioned for decades, Generation X has been better equipped to handle disappointment than any generation before it. We'll suck it up. We'll also never be in denial. We'll appreciate the little things. And we won't stop whining like "Hard Harry" because that's what we do.
Which also means that, if you're looking for some "great wisdom", you might want to look to another generation. In this week's episode of "Louie", Joan Rivers, a mildly-successful, highly-botoxed comedienne born during the depression, had this to say to a whiney Louis CK:
"I wish I could tell you it gets better...but it doesn't get better.
YOU get better."
Afterwards, Louis CK inexplicably kisses her. Some people try to bridge the generation gap; Louis CK tongues it.
And how true. I remember the first time I became conscious of "the 90s" as an actual phenomenon. It was the summer of 1991 and I just graduated from grade school. My brother rented a Betamax tape with the title "Pump Up the Volume". It starred a couple of young unknowns named Christian Slater and Samantha Mathis. Released in 1990, the movie opened with a line that might as well have opened the decade: "Do you ever get the feeling that everything in America is completely fucked up?" Those were the words of Mark Hunter, a.k.a "Hard Harry" - quiet high school geek by day and incendiary underground radio DJ by night.
Like the 90s, "Pump Up the Volume" is embarassingly earnest and pubescent in retrospect (Hard Harry: "I don't mind being dejected and rejected, but I'm not going to be ashamed about it. At least pain is real. I mean, you look around and you see nothing is real, but at least the pain is real.") However, as an anthropological document, it is immensely important. While the flower children of the 60s fought for equality and freedom from (perceived) tyranny, the 90s slackers fought for something far more abstract and elusive: purpose. We wanted our lives and the world to mean something. "Pump Up the Volume" marked the first ever conscious expression of this "fight" in 90s mainstream popular culture, years before "Reality Bites", the Alternative Music explosion, and most importantly, Nirvana. And when I watched it at age 12 (and listened to its soundtrack and heard Henry Rollins and Sonic Youth for the very first time), it was the most awesome thing ever.
If the 90s were our 60s, then a case could be made that the 80s are our default decade. Consider the cultural trajectory of the last half of the 20th century: the homogeny and consumerism of the 50s; the reactionary rebellion and anti-consumerism of the 60s and 70s; the re-emergence of homogeny and consumerism, tempered by a tolerance, if co-opting of fringe culture in the 80s; and then the 90s: an accelerated version of the previous decades where the rebellion and idealism of Generation X was quickly co-opted by the mainstream consumerist culture as early as 1994. Hence the 21st century so far: the 80s revisited; complete with its colorful clothes and typography.
This also has another, less obvious implication. Where the 80s had middle-aged ex-hippies, we now have middle-aged ex-Gen-Xers (or perhaps, just "Gen-Xers", since their birthdates have not changed). And who are left to give their unique Gen-X take on midlife crisis? Pearl Jam's still together, but Lord knows what Eddie Vedder's singing about these days. The world is still waiting for Richard Linklater's French New Wave-inspired film about middle age (a "Dazed and Confused" class reunion, perhaps?). After Alternative Rock and Independent Cinema carried the torch during the generation's heyday, who better to pick up the pieces than its comedians?
TNT's "Men of a Certain Age" and FX's "Louie" are among the best shows in TV today not named "Breaking Bad" or "Mad Men". Not only do these shows prove that comedians can produce and star in their own comedy series minus the laugh tracks, but they also offer a peek at middle-aged life in the post-postmodern world. It's not at all shocking that the two people who are up to the task also happen to be two of the most cynical comedians of the 90s, a decade known for its cynicism. For middle-aged Gen-Xers Ray Romano and Louis CK, the quest for meaning has been one long hilarious lost cause.
As far as sensibilities go, Ray Romano and Louis CK inhabit different planets. Romano is the mild-mannered, shy, and awkward suburban neighbor, while CK is the potty-mouthed, opinionated, acerbic loner from the city. Romano is Disney; CK is Sundance. Both earned their first TV starring roles playing their own versions of the disillusioned family man, but Romano's "Everybody Loves Raymond" aired on network TV for nine seasons while CK's "Lucky Louie" aired on basic cable for one season before getting cancelled. I'm not even sure if they've ever met.
However, Ray Romano's "Men of a Certain Age" and Louis CK's "Louie" are peas in the same "Paradise Lost" pod. Both comedy series portray Gen-X middle-aged life with heartfelt honesty and pathos.
In "Men of a Certain Age", Romano plays Joe - a party store owner, divorced father of two, and gambling junkie. This wasn't exactly how he envisioned things as a young man with aspirations for a pro golfing career. But he gets by everyday with a little help from his equally disillusioned friends - Terry (played by Scott Bakula), the commitment-phobic failed actor; and Owen (played by Andre Baugher), the heir to a doomed auto dealership.
One of the more poignant aspects of the show is Joe's almost Cassandra complex-like empathy towards his teenaged children. TV parents of generations past act as behavior-correctors (think Steven and Elyse Keaton of "Family Ties"); wise older people who hand out advice based on their experiences. Joe, on the other hand, is too self-aware to think he knows "the right thing to do". And it's this honesty that compromises his ability as a parent (at least in the traditional sense).
In one episode, Joe comes home early and catches a teenaged boy peeing naked in the bathroom. It turns out his sweet little daughter has brought home a "friend" for some afternoon delight (Joe will get that reference). In previous generations, that girl would've been grounded for months and would've been forbidden to "see any boys". But Joe is more hurt by the realization of her daughter growing up rather than by anything she's done. When she gets heartbroken, he doesn't tell her what she should feel or think; he just wants to make sure that she's alright. The closest he gets to becoming an advisor is with his daughter's obsessed ex-boyfriend, to whom he says, "Sometimes you gotta feel as bad as you can before you feel better". And it wasn't even advice on what to do, it was more like a warning of how things are, that people of all ages are powerless over the same things that happen in life, things like heartbreak.
"Louie" may be the most vulgar and absurdist comedy series ever produced but it explores truths with greater honesty than the standard sitcom fare. It's loosely auto-biographical, based on Louis CK's real life as a comedian and, like Joe, a divorced father of two. Yet, weird things keep happening in this show, and not just "weird" weird, but never-before-seen-on-TV weird. Louie has seen a homeless man's head roll off after getting hit by a truck, has kissed a well-meaning southern policeman, has had a one night stand with a woman who likes being spanked while crying "I'm sorry, daddy!", and has made love to Joan Rivers.
Louis CK's comedy is steeped in pessimism (one of his best stand-up quotes: "That's what optimistic means: stupid. An optimist is someone who goes, 'maybe something nice will happen'. Why the fuck would anything nice ever happen?"). Yet because his comedy skews so extremely to the absurd and the negative, his rare moments of joy with his two daughters feel so jarring and real. Two of his most depressing episodes from season 1 ended with him being so happy and relieved to be with his two daughters. That's what I was reminded of in the season 2 finale of "Men of a Certain Age", where Joe, after he thought he lost his bid to qualify for the Senior Golf Tournament said to his friend Terry: "I thought I needed this, but I don't think I do. Did you see Albert and Lucy (his two kids) out there today? That's enough. It should be."
Because we've been whining and getting disillusioned for decades, Generation X has been better equipped to handle disappointment than any generation before it. We'll suck it up. We'll also never be in denial. We'll appreciate the little things. And we won't stop whining like "Hard Harry" because that's what we do.
Which also means that, if you're looking for some "great wisdom", you might want to look to another generation. In this week's episode of "Louie", Joan Rivers, a mildly-successful, highly-botoxed comedienne born during the depression, had this to say to a whiney Louis CK:
"I wish I could tell you it gets better...but it doesn't get better.
YOU get better."
Afterwards, Louis CK inexplicably kisses her. Some people try to bridge the generation gap; Louis CK tongues it.
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