Commitment

The first week of January always brings a revival of TV network programming from the rerun-ridden doldrums of the Holiday Season, with brand new episodes and debuts of programs that just missed the September cut-off but hung around like vultures to replace the DOAs that the network programmers foisted on the public in September. This week we've been graced with several new shows, mostly following the recent lamentable trends of "Reality" variations and police procedural dramas. The former tend to be freakier and more tasteless as they try to push the envelope; the latter are somewhat involving, generally not stupid, but as forgettable as last Thursday's tuna sandwich.

The saddest development in TV this century is the decline of network comedy. I could attribute the fall of the sitcom to my departure from the arena twelve years ago, but that would only be part of the truth. It seems the programming heads, as usual, haven't a clue how to revive the genre. Their strategies usually involve cloning (or as we called it in the 1980's, "copying") formats that have generated some success. Now this repro approach does seems to work on the procedural "Law and Order:CSI:SVU:MI" efforts, thanks largely to name-brand recognition.

But it's not the same with sitcoms. NBC keeps on trying to foist "Friends/Sex in the City" replicas onto the public, intoning the "18-49 urban audience" mantra so as to shift responsibility to market theory from their own doubtful acumen. The latest attempt aired last night, called "Committed," which, given the looniness of its characters, was meant not only to suggest the demands of a relationship but also their potential assignation to Bellevue. Okay. The two leads are both hyper-neurotics whose flakiness would make Chandler Bing seem as stolid as Clint Eastwood. This is promising, conceptually, because sitcom characters need identifying traits and peccadilloes (great word) for easy audience recognition. Nate, the guy, is a packrat and almost as obsessive/compulsive as Howard Hughes. This is amusing but makes one wonder what hotel he'll end up at age 70 draping the walls with Kleenex. Marnie, the girl, is less defined but an overly sentimental good sport, who even agrees to let a dying clown reside in her hall closet.

Now the "dying clown in a closet" idea is the latest on crazier and crazier versions of the nosy neighbor or Sitcom Fame, but, come fucking on! I didn't care much for the originals of this staple character, who served largely as confidants for our leads and were forever barging through the only unlocked front doors in the city, always with a snappy entry line. A gimmick that probably harks back to ancient farce (and might have suggested to Larry Gelbart the title "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum").

But this venerable prototype has evolved scarily with the proliferation in the genre, spawning such variations as Carlton the Doorman, Kramer, Eldin the Housepainter on "Murphy Brown," and now this. I am glad that producers are still trying to give Tom Poston some work. I've liked him since he played the fortgetful interviewee on "The Steve Allen Show." But hey, he's married to Suzanne Pleshette, and he must collect almost as much in residuals as Neil Simon, so let's not feel too terrible for the old guy. Can't he retire gracefully, to make room for some other vet who could use the work? Paul Newman would make a great dying clown.

As a former writer of episodes and pilots I can well imagine how such a character might have slunk into the creators' consciousness, and about at what time of day (2AM, when most man-made disasters like Chernobyl and the Exxon Valdez also were perpetrated). Hey, Showrunners, have you considered what you will do with this character 100 episodes down the road? How many "living in the closet" gags can you get, after a weekly reference to the same from "Will & Grace"? Poston's hang-dog face is amusing, but it also eerily suggests what Donald Trump will look like in 2025.

It's not fair to judge a show by its pilot, whose constituent collaborators include not only the writers but the studio heads, network execs, standards-and-practice lackeys, and the homeless and toothless who wander into the Preview House. In a pilot the characters are more concepts than people, so "bundles of neuroses" are a mite more interesting than "fat father, skinny wife, sassy kids." A relationship comedy badly needs character conflict and viewer-friendly charm, precisely balanced so as not to repulse but to endear itself to the audience. There will be a shakedown on this show as the writers and performers try to recreate the intangible character chemistry required for long-term success. I doubt that simply throwing oddball elements into the cauldron like the demented clown and the guilt-inducing paraplegic will result in a savory brew. But I guess I'm glad someone is still trying.