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BY ALEX ISRAEL

In print | Published April 21, 2011

When I first interviewed to write for The Phoenix seven (!) semesters ago, I was asked by my interviewer, the great Ian Yarett, why I wanted to write about television.

I explained to Ian that, in my opinion, television was an incredibly underappreciated art form; a friend of mine who, at the time, was in film school, had just made some snarky comment to me about how television was film’s “bastard child,” and I felt that I had to defend my medium to the general public, that I must convince people that television had the same potential for artistic greatness as film, literature and music. In short, I made it my mission to show my readers what they were missing by dismissing television in such terms.

Flash forward three and a half years, and television is finally getting some respect. Shows like “Mad Men,” “Fringe” and “30 Rock” are regularly praised by critics, and many actors’ career trajectories now move them from film to television, rather than the other way around. That very same friend who had brushed off my arguments as to the greatness of television spent her last two years of film school working on the sets of “Nip/Tuck” and “24.”

At this point in time, I doubt that any cultural critic would question the audacious, breathtaking storytelling that characterized television masterpieces like “The Sopranos” and “The Wire,” or deny the influence that “The Simpsons” has had on popular culture.

In this column, my last as a writer for The Phoenix (don’t worry, I’ll still be writing about TV at www.pencilsdownpasstheremote.blogspot.com, and you can join the lovely and talented Emilia Thurber as a follower!), I want to go even further with my defense of television. You see, I don’t just think that television is the equal of the other art forms that I mentioned earlier; I think that, in recent years, the best shows on TV have surpassed cinema, literature and music.

They have not necessarily been surpassed in objective quality (although artistic merit is hardly objective), but in cultural influence. To me, the artistic masterpieces that define our time are the fourth season of “The Wire,” the first season of “Lost,” the paintball episode of “Community” and the infamous gorge jump from “The Simpsons.” These, and many others, are our cultural legacy.

Don’t worry, I can already hear the English and film and media studies (not to mention art history) majors furiously typing counter-examples to refute my claim. But give me a moment to defend myself. Think about it this way; in the last few years, have you read a new book or seen a new movie that you think defines your generation or your time?

I know that no film or book I’ve encountered during my time at Swarthmore has spoken to me the way that the fourth season of “The Wire” did (a major exception being Karl Marlantes’ crippling, masterful novel “Matterhorn,” which, though an absolute masterpiece, defines a generation older than ours). And I don’t think that any book or film, no matter how clever or incisive, has sent up current culture with the same satirical wit as “30 Rock.” I strongly suspect that, if Jonathan Swift were alive today, he would be working with Tina Fey.

For those who take issue with my mention of the awesome “Community” paintball episode, I’ll say that many great films and works of literature are genre pastiches. Quentin Tarantino is probably the first filmmaker who comes to mind when discussing the re-appropriation of genre elements, but Jean-Luc Godard’s “Breathless,” a film that helped revolutionize cinema in both France and the United States, is in many ways a (highly original) pastiche of film noir with a distinctly French spin.
Of course, re-appropriation of stories and styles goes back much further than film; none of Shakespeare’s plays were original stories, and it was the skill of the Bard that made them into the immortal works that people are still reading and talking about today. Am I saying that “Community” is Shakespeare? Well, no, but I think it’s important to consider precursors in the art of re-appropriation before criticizing.

Speaking of Shakespeare, while “Community” may not quite be the equivalent of the Bard, there is an heir to his gift for wordplay, his rapier wit, his skill at writing both comedy and tragedy — Aaron Sorkin. Anyone who has seen “The West Wing” knows that Sorkin has a gift for language, for wordplay and for making silver-tongued verbosity sound natural and poetic at the same time.
And if you’ve seen “The West Wing” or Sorkin’s recent foray into movies i.e. “The Social Network” (which was amazing, so I’ll forgive him for switching mediums), you know that he has the rare ability to portray deep personal and national tragedy — such as the shooting that almost claimed the life of Charlie Young, the death of Leo McGarry or the dissolution of the friendship between Mark Zuckerberg and Eduardo Saverin — with depth, feeling and clarity. Yes, Sorkin did make “Studio Sixty on the Sunset Strip,” but even Shakespeare had Coriolanus, and that misfire certainly didn’t take away from the achievement of Hamlet.

Those of you who know my feelings about “The Wire,” specifically the superb fourth season (which, seriously, just watch it), are probably surprised that I named Sorkin the true heir to Shakespeare rather than David Simon. While “The Wire” may occupy the cultural place of Shakespeare, its true ancestors are Dostoevsky and Dickens, Sinclair and Hugo, writers who broke free of the classical mold and focused their efforts on corruption, poverty and crime in the same way that “The Wire” and Simon’s previous effort, the miniseries “The Corner,” examined the web of corruption and crime that spread throughout Baltimore, a city that Simon knew intimately from his years covering the crime beat for the Baltimore Sun.

The breathtaking scope of Simon’s work is unique in that he showcases not only the police who persevere despite the crushing lack of funding and results, but also the drug dealers, government officials, neighborhood kids and reporters caught up in these events, some by choice and some not.
Simon’s series evokes the life of the underclass in Baltimore with the same skill that Dickens evoked the London slums, Hugo examined invisible Paris and Dostoevsky described the poor of St. Petersburg. It is a work of breathtaking magnificence that sucks you in despite the scale. It is the masterpiece of our time.

Of course, there are many shows that I’ve had to leave out of this discussion: the twisted sci-fi of “Fringe,” the mind-bending trippiness of “Lost” and “Twin Peaks,” the period exactness of “Mad Men.” Still, I think that I’ve managed to make my point. Television is no longer a medium for failed filmmakers and small-time actors. It is a medium filled with ambition, drama and skill that combine to tell some of the most compelling stories of the last decade. I’m truly grateful that I’ve had the opportunity to experience it.

Alex is a senior who is grateful to all the wonderful people at The Phoenix who have made this column possible. Her television reviews and commentary will henceforth be available at www.pencilsdownpasstheremote.blogspot.com. You can also reach her at aisrael1@swarthmore.edu.

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