arts & culture
5
politi-glee incorrect
getting away with four seasons of stereotypes
TEDDY SHALEVA contributing writer Glee is certainly not a new phenomenon and has been praised and dismissed by critics and fans many times since it started airing back in 2009. It is precisely because it has been on television for a while, however, that we can take a look back and try to objectively comprehend why the show has been so successful, despite quite a few rough patches (a painfully lackluster second season, for instance). If you follow Glee, chances are you’ve been on both sides of the argument, as the show is infamously inconsistent, both in terms of plot and quality. But even though it sometimes seems that the show’s success was a fluke (perhaps because people were so surprised by Glee’s musical format that they didn’t have time to criticize its narrative flaws), it continues into its fourth season better than ever. Despite its many bumps on the road to success, Glee was and still is a novelty; there is no other show on air that combines the characteristics of musicals, comedies and dramas, while also featuring a sprinkle of weird Christmas specials and alternate reality episodes. What’s even more special about Glee, however, is that in an era of political correctness and very careful phrasing by the media, it doesn’t shy away from controversial jokes and dark humor. The selection of characters whose roles as high school stereotypes—or representations of specific social issues, such as anorexia, dyslexia, physical disabilities, and teen pregnancy—sometimes outshine the characters’ actual personalities. Now,
maybe this is counterintuitive. Isn’t that exactly the opposite of what the show should be trying to achieve? If I were to write a TV show preaching against discrimination and prejudices, I would want to show multidimensional characters who were defined by their unique personalities rather than by the issues they face. But this is not the case in Glee. For example, Mike Chang—a character who has been with the show all four seasons—is pretty much a mystery to viewers, even now. The only major plot line he’s ever been involved in had to do with his strict Asian father, who refused to let Mike follow his dreams of being a professional dancer. Now, if that’s not reducing a character to a stereotype, I don’t know what is. And Mike is not alone. Almost all the Glee kids are more caricature than character. Storylines that prominently feature Artie, a wheelchair-bound Glee-club member, almost always have something (or everything) to do with his chair. Granted, Artie has more of a personality than Mike, but he’s not defined by that personality. His wheelchair defines him. Thus, the show’s attempt to transcend stereotypes backfires—instead of encouraging kids to forget their differences and embrace their talents, Glee insists on making each character’s “difference” the most crucial part of his identity. So how does Glee get away with it? What makes us forgive Glee’s endorsed stereotypes, especially when premise of the show is to undermine those stereotypes?
I would argue that Glee fans, the ones who’ve really stuck with the show through all the ups and downs, have a sense of pride and ownership over the show’s trajectory. In fact, sometimes it even feels like we’re writing the show along with the writers, because Glee rarely hesitates to break the fourth wall. The show is nothing if not self-aware. The writers slip in little clues and jokes to let fans know they hear our feedback and opinions. Examples range from Brittany’s fear of dating Sam because of the wrath of the lesbian blog community to Sue’s inability to think of a nickname for Marley except for “the absolutely stunning kind-faced, blue-eyed girl,” a feeling I’m sure most of the audience shares. All of this snarky self-criticism allows us to not take Glee so seriously when the writers dive off the deep end, making potentially offensive (and definitely politically incorrect) jokes. And honestly, this snark is what saves Glee from entering after-schoolspecial territory, a real risk considering that the show tackles charged issues like teen pregnancy, bullying, and stereotypes. Though the show is certainly melodramatic at times, it’s too self-aware to be dismissed as a typical teen melodrama. Ironically, it’s easier to take Glee seriously precisely because the show doesn’t take itself too seriously.
Glee’s selfawareness allows it to get away with a lot—inconsistent plots, one-dimensional characters, offensive jokes, and a complete lack of subtlety when it comes to ascribing different themes to each episode—but the show’s most remarkable feat is its didactic function. Because the show communicates on teens’ terms—sarcastic, self-deprecating, irreverent—its young viewers are more willing to appreciate its (often heavy-handed) morals, which they would otherwise instinctively dismiss. This teenage appeal is maybe Glee’s most consistent feature: from season one to season four, through all of its ups and downs, the secret to the show’s success has been its ability to successfully embody the teenage mentality. Illustration by Emily Reif
lewd lawyer
living the (rude, dirty, nasty) brown dream
DILLON O’CARROLL contributing writer Some things are better left unsaid. Living in a hypersensitive age of social media, people watch their words. You become careful to be politically correct, to not step on toes, to not offend anyone. Most people glance around the room before telling a joke or relating an anecdote. But for a few intrepid souls, this lifestyle is simply unfit for their nature. Will Newman ‘04 is one of those souls. By light of day, Will is an attorney practicing in New York City, a Brown alumnus, and NYU Law graduate. But by the light of the moon, you can find Will Newman in clubs around New York City singing and playing music that is, frankly, unpublishable. Will Newman’s music doesn’t just cross the line of correctness—it cracks it over the head with a beer bottle and tells it to get the hell out of the bar. His music is quirky, irreverent, and hilarious. Will brings a joyful tone to subjects most people tune out. You can get a sense of this just by looking at his song titles “It’s Not My Fault You’re in a Wheelchair” and “You’re the Second Best I’ve Ever Had.” There’s no embellishment in these titles: “Wheelchair” is about a man feeling guilty he isn’t attracted to a girl in a wheelchair; “Second Best” is a ballad in which a man, ranking his lovers, tells a girl she would be first if it “weren’t for that stripper from Dallas.” His
songs are a collection of inappropriateness, which include lyrics that express what most of us choose not to express. But behind his impolite lyrics is a measure of redeemable charm, plus a really good band. Will’s irreverent lyrics have their foundation in his undergraduate days. “When I went to Brown,” he told me, “I was in this unit with like 20 dudes playing acoustic guitar with all the same sort of singersongwriter standard, ‘I’m a guy with deep, sensitive feelings and can do a good singersongwriter kind of thing.’ There wasn’t a way for me to differentiate my feelings from these other guys. So I tried to think of the bluntest way to put things.” So Will, inspired by the comic stylings of Steven Lynch and Demetri Martin, sharpened his music and made his lyrics match the hilarity of those artists. And in the century of SoundCloud and YouTube, where musicians can proliferate their “lovey-dovey” songs quicker than ever, Will adapts through comedy. “Honestly, really talented singer-songwriters—I don’t want to say they’re a dime-a-dozen but there’s just so many of them, so by doing something a little different it makes you stand out.” While Will carved out his own sound at Brown, he also developed skills and talents that helped him become an attorney. Will is the “Brown Dream”—the kid who trooped off to Brown where he followed all his ambi-
tions without turning into a machine. “Pursuing my very juvenile sense of humor at the same time I was taking myself seriously as a future law person I think springs from not having any core requirements or having to worry: Am I taking all of the right classes? It made me realize that these are two things that neither of which I wanted to give up.” Will doesn’t run into much resistance from the professional side of his life; in fact, the music compliments it. “I really thought this was gonna be a problem and it really hasn’t been. I’ve been very lucky that the people that I’ve worked with are fine with it. By working in law I get to be the one creative person or one of few creative people in a whole other circle. Also the money is pretty good.” There is no tip-toeing for Will Newman, either in his music or his professional career. Brown cultivated Will’s urge follow his desires. His music may step on people’s toes or “offend” their sensibilities, but the music is bigger than the lyrics. The music represents the moment in life when you need to figure out a way to separate yourself from the pack. It is disdain for the mundane, making people laugh at feelings we don’t like to talk about because we are afraid to confront them. His music might make you awkwardly crack up with touchy subjects, but also reminds us all that we don’t have to
give up passion for profession. Will Newman has found balance through hard work and dirty jokes. Illustration by Marissa Ilardi