Desperate Characters

In an earlier column I labeled the TV series "Las Vegas" the best bad show on television. I could have easily said the same of "Desperate Housewives," but since that slot was filled, I'll call "Housewives" the worst good show on the tube. Not that there is any substantive difference in this arbitrary distinction along the qualitative continuum. They are much more similar then, say, a liberal Republican and a conservative Democrat.

Both shows are essentially hour-long comedies using dramatic devices to pad the plots. Both are replete with improbable storylines engaging extremely attractive casts. Both are unchallenging and as easy to digest as hot cocoa, with about the same nutritional value. I think where "Housewives" scores more successfully is in the delineation of its characters. This is partly owing to the creator, Mark Cherry's experience in sitcom writing. He was a staff writer on "The Golden Girls"--a credit he and I actually share--and he learned from that well-conceived show how to differentiate female characters (notably, the rather bland males in "Housewives" are not nearly as distinguishable).

Cherry had trouble selling his concept, which is essentially a hybrid of soap opera and comedy (as opposed to a "Mary Hartman" satire of the genre). The closest model seems to be the Oscar-winning "American Beauty," which balanced domestic comedy and tragedy in a harmonious suburban setting, and also used the device of a deceased voice-over narrator to provide pungent ironic commentary. Stylistically, the recent, less successful "Stepford Wives" may have had some influence as well. Fortunately this season, ABC had nothing to lose and Fox-like, decided to gamble on some off-beat programming choices. Now Sunday is theirs. Robert Iger is pleased.

I do not believe "Housewives" has the staying power of other successes from this year, such as "Lost" or "Medium." Already the story lines are running into each other and are forgettable. The murder mystery involving Mrs. Hooper (not exactly a mystery, more of a when-are-they-gonna-catch-him) has been dangled uninterestingly and sustained far too long, possibly because this gives them a reason to continue using Harriet Sansom Harris, a fine character actor whose every smile reeks of venom. They are also using Kathryn Joosten, the famous dead Mrs. Van Landinham of "West Wing" and Joan of Arcadia's favorite God incarnation, and Leslie Ann Warren as Susan's pfedicatably meddlesom Mom. I've read that, perhaps in the interest of multiethnic appeal, the producers are hiring Alfre Woodard as a regular for next season. Adding extra regulars so early in a show's life indicates a concern that stories are not leaping out of the word processors. It's the equivalent of a sitcom couple having a baby.

Still, the actors portraying the "Housewives" manage to make these self-absorbed suburbanettes somewhat appealing, even if the scripts render them less than sympathetic. Teri Hatcher's Susan, the closest to a protagonist, overdoes the klutziness but maintains some likeability. Likeable does not apply to Felicity Huffman's overwhelmed, clueless baby machine, but we believe the fundamental intelligence of her character and wish she could have pursued that career that now will elude her forever. Eve Longoria's vixen is fun to watch in the prurient sense, but her one-note character needs some shading. She is at present, the broadest of broads.

The best performance so far is Marcia Cross's ice princess Bree, with the immaculately coiffed hairdo that looks like it was applied by CGI effects. Cross really digs into the contradictions of her character. It's a kick to watch her blanch at the idea of an S/M relationship with her husband while turning right around to practice firing her .45 caliber pistol at the local range. Her ambivalent feelings toward her reprobate son, who had done pretty much everything to fuck with her mind, from fleeing a hit-and-run killing to roughing her up in his room and, for extra credit, coming out gay, actually evoke more sympathy than perhaps her character deserves. Yet she plows ahead with that grim tight-assed determination to project the perfect life.

Oddly, the most sympathetic character to emerge so far is Nicolette Sheridan's local slut and adversary to Susan. Her singleness seems to offend the other regulars and they've excluded her from their socializing. Maybe they also resent her for that promotional locker room tie-in with Terrell Owens. Yet she was awfully forgiving of Susan, who not ony stole the hunky Mike from her initial clutches, but also accidentally burned down her house while doing so. All she asked in return was to be included in the weekly poker game. Not a lot to ask. If necessary, she could come to mine. But since conflict is necessary for comedy, the writers have revved up her feuding with Susan again. Ah well, had to be.

I enjoy "Desperate Housewives" but do not consider it appointment TV, because of its predictability and thinness of story. It will even compare less favorably with my true Sunday special treat, "Six Feet Under," the brainchild of "American Beauty's" Alan Ball, who doesn't have to deal with Standards and Practices and can make his tragicomic characters much more trenchant. But "Six Feet Under" has one year to go, and "Housewives" has eight or nine, at which time Wisteria Lane will probably be populated by Avril Lavigne, the Olsen twins and Tori Spelling.