The long-delayed fourth season of Fox cult hit Arrested Development debuted on Netflix this weekend, to cries of delights from fans—10% of whom proceeded to marathon the show, consuming all 15 episodes in 48 hours or less. I wanted to be one of them, except for one small problem: it wasn’t very good.
As a media experiment, the Arrested Development revival is fascinating. As actual media, it’s abysmal.
Running from 2003 to 2006, the show attracted critical acclaim and a large fan base thanks to its quirky, sharp, snappy humour and the great chemistry between the characters. Tight half-hour episodes provided encapsulated plots with plenty of embedded social commentary and a rich mix of physical comedy, arch snark, and utterly bizarre, yet endearing, characters. It seemed like the show had come up with the perfect recipe for satisfying viewers, and many were surprised when it went under the axe in 2006.
Ever since, audiences have been lobbying for the return of Arrested Development, and talk of a movie generated a great deal of excitement among fans, though truth be told, a feature-length film might not be the best format for the tone, style, and nature of Arrested Development. Quick comedic sketches appear to be its forte, and that can’t be easily done in a film.
What audiences were offered this weekend was a Netflix-exclusive series of 15 roughly 30-minute episodes that were released simultaneously in the small hours of Sunday morning.
And they’re bad. Jarringly bad. So much so that I pulled out my three-season DVD set and watched a few older episodes to determine if the show had changed, or if I had. Ultimately, I concluded that while my inclinations may have changed slightly—some of the humour in the original series is no longer to my taste, for example—the real fault lay with the new episodes.
One of the reasons for that lies in the production technique. Working around the schedules of busy actors, the production team was forced to do things like shooting actors against green screens and editing them together later, not including the group ensemble very often, and limiting screen time for many characters in individual episodes.
The revival series is set up with the conceit of each character having a dedicated episode; hence the changing tagline at the start of each episode informing us that this is ‘_____’s Arrested Development,’ but it’s not something that worked out very well in practice. Paired with this method, Arrested Development also went with labyrinthine interlacing plots that unfolded over the course of multiple episodes, which can be a fantastic storytelling technique, but again, not one that worked out in this case.
What made the original Arrested Development fantastic was in no small part the ensemble and the chemistry of the actors working together. When we saw everyone in isolation, the characters, actors, and stories fell flat, without the fizz of interacting together and clearly loving their work. The episodes felt stiff and canned, without the improvisational dialogue and sense of fun that made the original series such a pleasure to watch. Indeed, it felt much like an awkward reunion of people who have long since grown past their former roles, which was exactly what it was.
The direction was sloppy, and the writing lacked the snappy ring Arrested Development once offered. Instead of sly political commentary, it wielded opinions with an iron fist, and the oppressive humour everpresent in the show turned especially sour and sniping. In the past, some Arrested Development episodes managed to turn the lens back on things like racist jokes, using them as commentary on the characters and the nature of comedy, but here they were played for straight laughs, in a deeply discomfiting and ugly way.
What happened with Arrested Development taught us more about revivals than it did about original online series. For example, earlier this month we marked ten years since the last episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer aired, but do we want more Buffy episodes? Some besotted fans might say yes, missing the show immensely and not satisfied with the continuation of the story in comic form. The rest of us know better; after 10 years, Buffy simply wouldn’t be the same any more.
Seven years after it last aired, Arrested Development tasted like a bag of stale crackers. Some reviews are praising it anyway, perhaps because at least some reviewers are still viewing through the rose-tinted glasses of delight at seeing an old favourite revived, while others are being less favourable. If it does fall flat, with low viewer numbers and a generally poor response, the blame can’t be placed at the foot of Netflix for trying a (semi) original series. The issue lies with trying to resuscitate something that was ready to go gently into that good night.
Meanwhile, we’re looking at an explosion of web-only series planned for fall on AOL, Amazon, Hulu, and Netflix. Here lies a new media potential, and some of this programming should be immensely interesting, showcasing the strength and flexibility of the medium. We are shifting away from old models of content delivery (and measures of success) and into a very new world where the internet isn’t a secondary distributor used as an afterthought, but the primary source of new media.
If the good ship Arrested Development sinks, that doesn’t mean we should set fire to the rest of the armada.
good afternoon, post like this,,, great…
Uhhhh did you just compare Buffy to AD, now that’s stupid funny. Maybe you should have mentioned a show in the same genre at least, like My Name is Earl. So just keep watching your feel good formula 2 laguh’s an episode shows like Big bang, and I’ll take a “forget me now” hoping I won’t end up here again writing another post.
If you didn’t get that last line then you’ve only seen Arrested Development, but have yet to watch it.
Irony is the foundation for all comedy.
Next time if your going to write an article about how a show didn’t live up to your preconceptions or previous perceptions. Instead of calling out all those people wearing rose colored glasses, try asking yourself if that stick up your but has permanently impaired your sense of humor.