Natalie is introduced by a character who looks like and is voiced by HBO's John Oliver to a group of boys and the audience. She has shoulder-length hair and wears a red v-neck t-shirt, lime green shorts, blue sneakers and carries a turquoise backpack on one shoulder.
Netflix
The new season of Big Mouth had been out only a few hours when I first received a clip through the trans IG DM whisper network.
I tensed up, as I usually do when a trans character appears in a show created by cis people. It's an involuntary response conditioned during a lifetime of Dallas Buyers Clubs and South Parks and Law and Orders. So you can imagine my surprise at finding the clip to be, well, fine.
In it, a new character, Natalie, recounts her backstory to one of the main characters of the show, Jessi. The show neither shies away from the uniquely painful way puberty often affects transgender people nor falls into tropes such as the "wrong body" narrative. The backstory even includes the concomitant struggle with one's own sexuality that often muddies struggles with gender.
Natalie delivers an especially keen description of this dissociated puberty by saying, "It was like I was vibrating at this weird frequency all the time." Her backstory concludes with Natalie shunning her harshly masculine hormone monster, Gavin, by taking hormone blockers — the often life-saving medication that temporarily delays puberty for trans kids until they are old enough to personally choose their puberty, which was recently banned in the UK.
The first thing I did after watching the clip (before deciding how I felt) was to see who voices Natalie. Another pleasant surprise is that this actress is also a trans woman, Josie Totah. In a world where Scarlett Johansson insists she can play a trans man just as well as she could a tree — ironic considering she has done nothing in her lengthy career to demonstrate her ability to play anything — this is a representational victory.
Totah's voice acting shines brightly thanks to the content of her lines. Those lines, it turns out, were at least partially written by a trans woman. Patti Harrison, who shares a "Written By" credit on this first episode of Season 4, is a trans stand-up comic and writer who is perhaps best known for her hilarious, caustic character, Ruthie, in the show Shrill. The irreverent shock comedy Harrison employs in her stand up and acting roles filter through, giving Natalie's character a certain edge that allows her to blend seamlessly into the crass series.
This bare-minimum feat of representation is a positive step for the creators of Big Mouth, Goldberg and Nick Kroll, who found themselves in hot water last year for a scene in the third season. That scene centers on a new kid at the school, voiced by Ali Wong, who is pansexual.
The character explains pansexuality as an inclusive alternative to bisexuality. She makes use of an extended metaphor in which the binary genders are tacos and burritos. Bisexuals like tacos and burritos, whereas pansexuals are open to tacos, burritos, "a taco that was born a burrito, or a burrito that is transitioning into a taco."
There is a lot to unpack here, and the last thing I want is to reignite the perpetual bisexual/pansexual Twitter discourse, so I'll just say that this description of bisexuality as inherently binary is outdated and biphobic, and the implication that trans people collectively are nonbinary erases binary trans people.
There is nothing surprising about two middle-aged cis dudes who write a show about children saying "f**k" and jerking off a lot missing the mark with a sexuality explainer. But what is surprising, especially for the creators of a show in a genre long dominated by the creators of shows like South Park (who tend to respond to criticism with more bigotry), is what came next. Goldberg took to Twitter to apologize and promised to do better. And, considering the lengths they went to in bringing in Totah and Harrison and providing them the space to create Natalie, they have kept their word.
None of this is to say that Natalie's three-episode arc is perfect. After a second episode in which she largely functions as support for Jessi during the latter's prolonged struggle to tame an especially massive period with her first tampon, Natalie is brought back up front in the third.
Without Harrison's involvement in the writing process, Natalie falls into a familiar trans trope — shame and rejection from a sexual partner due to her trans identity. Natalie is given the last word, which she uses to tell the 12-year-old version of Seth Rogen voiced by Seth Rogen to "have fun face-f**king your dad's meat, you French-Canadian c**t," but the storyline is not given the time and depth it deserves.
Considering the expanse given to Big Mouth's gay main character, Matthew, in his confrontation with homophobia later in the season, I'm hopeful that future Natalie appearances in the show will grant her more runway.
Ultimately, Natalie's arc concludes by emphasizing that her happy ending is her friendship with Jessi. It's a fine ending that typifies the status quo for trans representation in media at the moment — no longer the villainous trickster but the sassy best friend.
Although Big Mouth stops short of breaking new ground by showing Natalie as deserving of and embraced by romantic love, for a show in which a tween gives birth to twin constipation turds named Zach and Cody, the humanity granted to her feels like a step toward progress.
Thanks to streaming platforms like Netflix and Hulu, it was suddenly possible to watch multiple episodes of a single TV series in one sitting without the interruptions of commercials. As the way we watched TV changed, so too did the kind of shows we watched. Gone was the overabundance of vapid, sugary-sweet sitcoms, and in came the era of political satire, dramatic comedies, and searing commentaries on everything from abortion to Hollywood. Summarily, the 2010s saw a golden age of television. Here are our 50 favorites, with the top 25 and bottom 25 listed in alphabetical order.
The Top 25 TV Shows of the 2010s
Atlanta
Atlanta first aired in 2016, with Donald Glover's Earn learning that his cousin Alfred has released a hit song under the stage name Paper Boi. Since then, the show has followed Earn's struggle to navigate different worlds as he takes over managing his cousin's burgeoning music career while also trying to be a good father to his daughter, Lottie, and to prove himself to Van, his ex-girlfriend and Lottie's mother. The show uses varying perspectives to flesh out the city of Atlanta and the complexities of being black in America with surreal touches that highlight the real-world absurdity. Yet despite the heaviness of much of its subject matter, it frequently manages to be among the funniest shows on TV.
Barry
For anyone who ever wondered whether or not SNL-alum Bill Hader could carry a serious TV show, Barry answers with an overwhelming "yes." To be clear, Barry is technically a dark comedy, or perhaps a crime comedy-drama, but Bill Hader brings a level of unprecedented seriousness to his titular character that oftentimes makes the show feel like a straight tragedy.
Playing a hitman who wants to leave his life of crime behind in order to pursue a career in acting, Bill Hader imbues Barry with an earnestness that makes us as an audience truly want him to succeed. This likability serves to make Barry's violent acts all the more disturbing. Barry's greatest success is its ability to effortlessly fluctuate between the quirks of life as a struggling actor in LA and the violent inclinations of a man who murders for a living and can never really escape that truth. It's one of the best character studies currently on TV and is sure to cement Bill Hader as an extremely versatile A-list talent.
Baskets
Baskets premiered on FX in 2016, telling the story of Chip Baskets, an aspiring clown played by Zach Galifianakis, who is moving back to Bakersfield, California to live with his mother after a failed stint at clown school in Paris. Galfianakis' talent for melancholy slapstick makes the show by turns hilarious and touching, but it's his mother Christine Baskets—artfully portrayed by Louie Anderson—whose simple enthusiasm for small-town life makes the show one of the best of the decade. Watching Christine, Chip, and his twin brother Dale (also Galifianakis) heighten relatable family drama to exquisite absurdity never gets old.
Black Mirror
Nothing would be the same without Black Mirror. Though its later seasons have been inconsistent in quality, its earliest contributions were digital horror at its finest, with some of the episodes being downright visionary in terms of how accurately they predicted the near future. From the nostalgic visions of virtual afterlife in "San Junipero" to the eerie foresight of "Nosedive" and its digital ranking systems, Black Mirror made an indelible impact.
Bob's Burgers
Whatever you've heard about Family Guy or South Park, Bob's Burgers is the true successor to the golden age of The Simpsons. The Belcher family offers an update to The Simpsons' satirical view on middle class family life that reflects how America has changed since the 90s—slightly more urban, with less overt child abuse and a lot more economic precarity. And just as with the best seasons of The Simpsons, Bob's Burgers maintains a touching core of familial love and solidarity amid the absurd hijinks and veiled political commentary. Throw in the added value of the frequently hilarious, occasionally moving musical numbers, and Bob's Burgers easily secures a spot as one of the best shows of the decade.
Bojack Horseman
In terms of the quality of its writing, BoJack Horseman outdid itself season after season. What began as a parody of Hollywood's excesses quickly turned into a searing, and boundary-pushing meditation on depression, addiction, and what it means to change (or to be unable to). Increasingly self-aware and conscious of its hypocritical tendency to obsess over the misadventures of an evil but sympathetic celebrity, thereby glorifying them while criticizing them, BoJack Horseman is the political, devastating, timely, often hilarious show about an animated horse that none of us knew we needed. It's buoyed by the strength of its secondary characters, from the workaholic Princess Carolyn to asexual Todd to self-loathing Diane, and altogether the show takes deep-rooted fears that many share and refracts them in a funhouse mirror that's impossible to look away from.
Broad City
Ilana Glazer and Abbi Jacobson began producing an independent web series about their struggles to "make it" in New York City in 2009. Soon, Amy Poehler took interest in the series, and it moved to Comedy Central in 2014. The smash hit comedy was not only laugh-out-loud funny, but a beautiful portrait of a genuinely healthy, supportive female friendship—something TV has historically seen little of. Broad City can be credited for helping to usher in a new generation of female comedy creators and has become a cultural touchstone for millenials.
Catastrophe
Catastrophe, created and written by the show's stars, Rob Delaney and Sharon Horgan, is one of the realest, grossest, and funniest takes on love and the mess of life. Two people entering middle age meet and hit it off, they spend a reckless night together, and when she gets pregnant, they decide to make things work—not realizing how complicated that will be. It's a simple enough premise, but the cutting dialogue and the absurd comedy that plays out as two near-strangers build a life together make Catastrophe one of a kind.
Fargo
Anthology series like True Detective and American Horror Story can be really hit or miss, but in the three seasons that have aired on FX since 2014, Fargo has been consistently great. Maybe it has to do with the leisurely production schedule, the all-star cast, or the near-perfect movie that forms the basis for its tone, but whatever the cause, Fargo delivers murderous midwestern tragicomedy better than any show on TV—and nearly as well as the original. Season three, which followed the rivalry of the Stussy brothers—as played by Ewan McGregor—deserves a particular call-out, with season four due next year and featuring Chris Rock, Timothy Olyphant, and Jason Schwartzman.
Fleabag
Phoebe Waller-Bridge's stage-play-turned-two-season-TV masterpiece took the world by storm at the end of the 2010s. In the series, the viewer is made into the protagonist's (an unnamed woman played by Bridge) confidante as she uses sex to cope with grief and complicated family dynamics. As the show progresses, the closely protected inner life of the protagonist begins to reveal itself. Many consider the second season to be an essentially perfect season of television, in large part because of the hot priest (played by Andrew Scott). Fleabag is a funny, searing commentary on what it means to exist as a sexual, complicated being in a world with ever-changing expectations of women.
Grace and Frankie
70 is the new 30, or 20, or whatever arbitrary year of life we as a culture are deciding to glorify for no reason, because age is just a number. If you weren't aware that Jane Fonda glowed with money or that Lily Tomlin is our collective spiritual mother, then Grace and Frankie enlightened you. When two septuagenarian women are told that their husbands are gay and in love with each other, the best phase of their lives begins.
Haikyu!!
It's almost 2020, the world is upside down, and yes, an anime about high school volleyball is genuinely one of the best shows of the decade. Haikyu!!, literally "Volleyball" in Japanese, is about the trials and tribulations of the Karasuno High School Boys Volleyball Team. Unlike pretty much every other high school sports anime out there, Haikyu!! takes a relatively realistic approach to...well...high schoolers playing sports. In doing so, Haikyu!! translates the genuine passion that goes into high school sports and the real dynamics of teamwork, better than any other show I've ever seen.
The protagonist, Hinata, isn't a superpowered Volleyball God; he's an extremely short boy who can't reach the top of the net, but works his butt off because he loves the game. Likewise, all the other boys in Haikyu!! have realistic strengths and weaknesses (both on and off the court) that they work to overcome with help from their teammates. Haikyu!! is an exercise in wholesomeness––there are no villains, just other kids at other schools who love the same sport our boys do––and in a decade full of so much bitterness, it's a much needed dose of medicine.
Hunter x Hunter
For anyone who likes long-running shonen anime, Hunter x Hunter is, without a doubt, the pinnacle of the genre. While the original manga began publication in 1998, and a previous anime adaptation ran from 1999-2001, the 2011 adaptation re-started the series from scratch and, most importantly, covered the Chimaera Ant arc (or season––kind of––for you non-anime watchers).
The entirety of Hunter x Hunter is fantastic, featuring likeable protagonists, dastardly villains, and a brilliantly creative power system called "Nen." But there's a reason the Chimaera Ant arc is often considered the greatest shonen arc ever, and that's because it's a total deconstruction of the genre's tropes and conventions. Everything from the "always optimistic protagonist" to "the ultimate evil villain" is turned completely inside-out. The Chimaera Ant arc is intensely brutal and ultimately poignant, making us question the very nature of what makes us human.
Killing Eve
Phoebe Waller-Bridge can do no wrong, and even if she could and did, I'd probably still clap. The combination of Waller-Bridge's cutting wit and Sandra Oh and Jodie Comer's flawless performances makes for a TV show that never quite lets you find your balance before sending you spinning again. It's dark and surreal, while managing to still be deeply human.
Marvelous Mrs. Maisel
Being a professional stand-up comedienne is hard, but being Midge Maisel is wrapping chaos in a designer dress. Created by the fast-talking husband and wife behind Gilmore Girls, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel created a stage for Rachel Brosnahan to showcase her comedic timing and Alex Borstein to be a solid, deadpan pillar within Mrs. Maisel's world of quippy, fast-talking, energy. Also Michael Zegen (Joel) is dead cute.
Mob Psycho 100
While One Punch Man might be manga artist One's best known series (and is fantastic in its own right), his other series, Mob Psycho 100,is profound in a way quite unlike anything else I've seen. The show revolves around Mob, an awkward, unconfident middle school boy with god-like psychic powers. Any other shonen anime would use this premise as a gateway to epic battles (and there are a few, and their animation is absolutely incredible), but Mob Psycho 100 focuses far more on the coming-of-age angle instead.
See, Mob doesn't like his psychic powers because they make him feel weird. So instead of focusing on the one thing he's innately talented at but doesn't like, Mob tries to improve himself in the ways he actually cares about improving––making friends, talking to girls, working out with his school's Body Improvement Club. If anything, Mob's incredible psychic powers are a backdrop for the show's larger message––that no person, no matter what natural abilities they may have, is better than anyone else. Mob Psycho 100 shows that everyone has their own struggles, and that the only person you should ever hold yourself up in comparison to is the person you were yesterday.
The OA
Brit Marling and Zal Batmanglij's labyrinthine show only ran for two seasons, but it managed to earn a cult following during that time. Deeply weird, profoundly earnest, and full to the brim with observations on the connections between the environment, parallel universes, and technology, the two seasons that we do have are irreplaceable and paradigm-shifting examples of what TV could become, if we let ourselves believe.
Orange Is the New Black
Piper Kerman's post-grad rebellious stage went from a felony to a cultural touchstone. As Netflix's most-watched original series, OITNB boasted a female-led cast and cutting commentary on race, class, and the industrial prison complex.
PEN15
Those who didn't have a gruelingly awkward middle school experience are, by scientific evidence, simply inhuman. Maya Erskine and Anna Konkle tell it best in Hulu original PEN15, which co-stars the real-life BFFs (who also wrote and executive produced together) as 13-year-olds. Here, there's no sugarcoating the calamities of tweenhood, whether they're as trivial as thongs and AIM messaging or as weighty as race identity. All delivered with Erskine and Konkle's razor-sharp wit, it's absolutely hysterical to anyone who's lived past the seventh grade.
Rick and Morty
"To be fair, you have to have a very high IQ to understand Rick and Morty. The humour is extremely subtle, and without a solid grasp of theoretical physics most of the jokes will go over a typical viewer's head."
Okay, so first things first, we need to separate Rick and Morty from the Rick and Morty fandom. The Rick and Morty fandom is so annoying that memes making fun of them are barely distinguishable from the things they actually say. But, to be fair, Rick and Morty really is a great show full of smart writing, surprisingly deep characterization, and the exact kind of bizarre, abstract humor that lends itself perfectly to endless memes. No doubt, Rick and Morty will be the defining animated comedy of the 2010s.
Russian Doll
This tightly-wound and big-hearted thriller stars Natasha Lyonne as a jaded New Yorker who gets caught in a loop in time and has to relive the night of her 36th birthday party over and over again. A perfect blend of humor and seriousness, and riddled with quantum leaps and profound connections, it's as satisfying as it is provocative.
Shameless
We fell in love with the trainwreck family the Gallaghers when it debuted on Showtime in 2011. William H. Macy brought so much toxic charm to the abusive and neglectful father Frank Gallagher that we actually found him, if not likable, then good television. Emmy Rossum managed to cause tears and laughter within the same scene, and the entire cast was as impressive as their characters were appalling.
Shingeki no Kyojin (Attack on Titan)
After the first season of Attack on Titan premiered in 2013, it received so much hype that even people outside of the anime community were raving about it. The show featured an incredibly high-concept premise, following the last surviving humans as they tried to fight back against giant, man-eating monsters called Titans. Had Attack on Titan stuck to that premise, it would have been top-notch action-horror, albeit not necessarily one of the best shows of the decade.
But Attack on Titan turned out to be so much bigger than its initial premise. As the seasons progressed, Attack on Titan reshaped itself time and time again, leading viewers through an increasingly complex, expertly plotted narrative featuring some of the most compelling characters and intensely emotional moments that I've ever experienced in fiction. At its core, Attack on Titan is a deeply thematic contemplation on war, othering, and humanity's will to survive against impossible odds, alongside the moral sacrifices they oftentimes make to do so.
Shrill
It shouldn't be revolutionary for a show to feature a fat female lead, but it is. Shrill, the brilliant Hulu adaptation of Lindy West's memoir, Shrill: Notes from a Loud Woman, gave audiences a badly needed narrative about a woman who is actively seeking to change her life for the better, in ways that have nothing to do with her body. It's funny, it's heartfelt, and it shows a woman getting an abortion and finding it empowering. Woah. Hell yes.
Steven Universe
When Steven Universe first aired on Cartoon Network in 2013, it was a light-hearted and silly children's show with some super-powered action from the Crystal Gems and a lot of silly jokes from their sidekick—the childish titular character. Since then an entire galaxy has been fleshed out around the boardwalk of Beach City where much of the show takes place. Along with the alien gem creatures and their elaborate history, the show has introduced us to a cast of characters that have grown and changed—overcoming insecurities and facing complex questions of love and identity. While Steven matured and developed into a hero worthy of his last name, the show evolved to become one of the best of the decade.
Screenshot from: John Mulaney and The Sack Lunch Bunch trailer / Netflix / Youtube.com
I really wanted to love John Mulaney & The Sack Lunch Bunch, because I really love John Mulaney.
John Mulaney is easily my favorite comedian of the modern era. He's an expert writer, capable of digging into jokes with such extreme specificity that you wholly believe that whatever absurd scenario he's recounting must have actually happened to him. And yet, he's never unrelatable, especially to fellow New Yorkers. As weird as the homeless man who lent Mulaney's Netflix special New in Town its title sounded, most of us have encountered similarly weird people on our late night subway treks.
From his musical SNL sketch "Diner Lobster" to his "Too Much Tuna" skits with Nick Kroll, Mulaney has a particular knack for bizarre humor that goes completely outside the box while staying entirely on-brand. Better yet, John Mulaney isn't a mean comedian. His comedy doesn't rely on punching down or calling out, but rather the reflections and introspections that come part and parcel with being a person in a society that doesn't always make sense.
So, when John Mulaney debuted a new Netflix special billed as a children's musical comedy a la Sesame Street and The Electric Company, I had no doubt that it was going to be something special––and it is. The Sack Lunch Bunch is incredibly unique, patently Mulaney, and unlike anything else on TV. But despite all that, as much as it pains me to say this––and I realize my opinion is in the vast minority here––I thought John Mulaney & The Sack Lunch Bunch was only okay. Not terrible. Not amazing. Just okay.
John Mulaney & The Sack Lunch Bunch is a concept album of sorts. The idea behind it is phenomenal––it's John Mulaney's take on an 80's-era children's ensemble show, one that attempts to address real issues on modern children's minds while also being equally aimed at adults.
Early on in the show, one of the members of the Sack Lunch Bunch––a group of 15 child actors who chat, sing, and dance throughout––asks John Mulaney: "What's the tone of the show?"
"Is it ironic, or do you like doing a children's show?" chimes another member of the Sack Lunch Bunch.
"First off, I like doing the show," responds Mulaney. "But honestly, like if this doesn't turn out great, I think we should all be like, 'Oh, it was ironic,' and then people would be like, 'Oh, that's hilarious.' But if it turns out very good, we'd be like, 'Oh, thank you, we worked really hard' and act really humble, and then we win either way."
This exchange effectively sets the tone for the entire show. John Mulaney & The Sack Lunch Bunch actually is a children's variety show, rather than a parody or a straight satire of one. But it also has the same bizarre, irreverent air as most of Mulaney's comedy. It's earnest, but maybe not entirely earnest.
For example, one of the show's big musical numbers, titled "Plain Plate of Noodles," features a set-up wherein one of the child actors complains about not being able to eat whatever he wants before breaking into a song and dance routine about only liking to eat plain noodles with a little bit of butter. Part of the humor lies in the absurdity of a child dancing on a stage surrounded by giant spaghetti tubes, but a lot of its cleverness lies in the fact that some kids really are just super picky and tend to cling to plain noodles with a little bit of butter. In other words, it's a real issue that kids can actually relate to and no other children's show has ever talked about.
But therein lies my biggest problem with John Mulaney & The Sack Lunch Bunch, a similar problem that has plagued countless concept albums: The idea is more interesting than the execution. As funny as the idea of a kid in a suit dancing around and singing about buttered noodles may be, I didn't get the same joy from actuallywatching it. Something got lost in translation; perhaps it's a larger point to the whole ordeal.
While plenty of the show's segments are amusing (the show makes great use of non-child-friendly celebrity cameos, like "Girl Talk with Richard Kind" and a song about being annoyed that adults aren't listening to you featuring David Byrne of The Talking Heads), none of it is laugh-out-loud funny in the same way that so much of Mulaney's humor tends to be. But if it is an earnest children's show, then I'm not sure there's actually a ton there for kids to enjoy. It may not talk down to children, but it also feels strongly geared towards adults who grew up with these kind of shows as opposed to kids today.
The one real standout segment came at the finale, featuring Jake Gyllenhaal as Mr. Music, a man who is supposed to teach The Sack Lunch Bunch about the joy of making music but failed to prepare in advance and, as a result, messes up his entire shtick and injures himself in the process. Gyllenhaal, as always, is an absolute treasure and fully commits to his bit, which ultimately feels like a genuine parody of the genre. The rest of the show falls extra flat in comparison.
To be clear, there's not a single person other than John Mulaney who could have helmed such a project, and the world is most certainly better for its existence. Mulaney has proven himself time and time again as an artist of the obscure with a distinct creative vision, and I love that he's been given the freedom to make pretty much whatever he wants. But while I grew up on Sesame Street, Mr. Rogers, and Zoom, and I really entered with the intention of loving this, John Mulaney & The Sack Lunch Bunch didn't quite do it for me.
It wasn't bad. It wasn't great. I still recommend it as an entertaining work of weird art. Who knows, maybe you'll like it more than I did.
Big Mouth, everyone's favorite educationally filthy adult cartoon, recently offered fans a third collection of jizz-filled, cringe-worthy, illuminating episodes.
The hit Netflix show is known for its ability to unflinchingly examine the cultural influences that act on young people, ultimately leading to many of the adult problems in the world, and season 3 is no exception. Topics covered this season include: sl*t shaming, sexual harassment, study drugs, gender equality, friendship, toxic masculinity, and the spectrum of sexuality.
The latter was the source of much online controversy. Many felt the show mischaracterized bisexuality and pansexuality, particularly in a scene in episode 8 in which a new student, Ali, comes to the kids' school and announces that she's pansexual.
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When asked if pansexuality is the same as bisexuality, Ali, voiced by Ali Wong, says, "No, bisexuality is so binary, being pansexual means my sexual preference isn't limited by gender identity… It's like, some of you borings like tacos, and some of you like burritos. And if you're bisexual, you like tacos and burritos. But I'm saying I like tacos and burritos, and I could be into a taco that was born a burrito, or a burrito that is transitioning into a taco, comprende? And honey, anything else on the f*cking menu."
As a bisexual cisgender woman, I was very interested in the internet's reaction to this scene, as well as the conversation that soon followed. Obviously, the show creates a strict distinction between the two terms. It portrays pansexuality as being sexually attracted to "boys and girls and everyone in between" while bisexuality is presented as exclusively referring to those who are attracted to men and women. Many who identify with these markers took issue with this:
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Soon, Big Mouth co-creator Andrew Goldberg took to Twitter to apologize for the show's stumble.
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Considering all the cringe-worthy notes app apologies 2019 has brought us (Shane Gillis, we're looking at you), this is actually a pretty good one. Goldberg not only admitted the show messed up, but he also clearly laid out an intention to do better in the future.
While it's important to apologize whenever you've offended someone, intentionally or not, is it really surprising that the show messed up these definitions? As someone who identifies with one of these labels myself, I have to say I'd not given much thought to their distinct differences or similarities. To Big Mouth's credit, linguistically, the definitions of pansexuality and bisexuality are more or less exactly as the show described them. The Greek prefix "pan" means "all," seemingly indicating that pansexual people are attracted to any and all genders. Meanwhile, as you know, the prefix "bi" means "two," which would seemingly mean that bisexual people are attracted to two genders, namely male and female.
But like all language, these terms have evolved to be more inclusive and specific than their dictionary definitions. Many people within the bisexual community, including myself, believe that bisexuality means something much closer to bisexual activist Robyn Och's definition: "I call myself bisexual because I acknowledge that I have in myself the potential to be attracted – romantically and/or sexually – to people of more than one sex and/or gender, not necessarily at the same time, not necessarily in the same way, and not necessarily to the same degree."
But if this is the case, how is this any different than pansexuality? Am I actually a pansexual? Is there a place in the LGBTQ+ spectrum for people who feel they are exclusively attracted to cisgender men and cisgender women? Or are these people inherently transphobic in the same way it's inherently racist to specify you are never attracted to a certain race?
In considering these questions, I consulted a close friend who identifies as pansexual. In our discussion, she shared that she settled on the term "pansexual" because when she began dating her longterm partner, a trans man, bisexuality just didn't feel right. After a Google search, she found the term pansexual and felt that it better described her sexual orientation. Perhaps most interestingly, we realized that while I tend to be attracted to women who present as traditionally feminine and men who present as traditionally masculine, she tends to be attracted to people of any gender identity who present as more traditionally masculine, regardless of genitalia or identity. "So," I responded, "maybe that's the difference. It's not about interest in certain gender identities, but in certain gender expressions?"
We then brought up the possibility that maybe pansexuality is a word for people who want to be explicit about the irrelevance of a person's genitalia—or other sex characteristics—to their sexual attraction. Meanwhile, bisexuality, while not inherently exclusive of any genders, is a word for people whose attractions are more dictated by gender identity or physical characteristics, not just a specific gender expression. Soon we backtracked on this idea, finding it to be too encumbering and possibly problematic. In fact, all we decided that we knew for sure is that people should be able to use words like pansexual and bisexual to mean whatever they feel best describes their non-heterosexuality.
This conversation, between two people very well-versed in identity politics compared to much of the world, left me feeling compassion for the creators of Big Mouth. While their definitions of pansexuality and bisexuality were undoubtedly flawed, who among us can say for sure what these terms mean to each individual person who ascribes to them? Perhaps it's these very linguistic puzzles that have caused so many members of the LGBTQ+ community to start to identify with the reclaimed, catch-all word “queer."As queer activist Nico Tortorella told Rolling Stone, "In the [queer] movement right now, we have a tendency of getting hung on specific words rather than the person. And in my fluidity, I'm really attracted to this idea that it doesn't have to be one thing."
Maybe, instead of vilifying well-intentioned creatives for stumbling in their attempts to increase and diversify LGBTQ+ representation on television, we should instead appreciate the opportunity to engage in productive conversations like these. After all, isn't the ultimate goal to be able to identify as merely the person you are, without fear of prejudice, regardless of sexual orientation?
Netflix comedy-bingers are being forced to diversify their comedy diets.
Despite the streaming platform's multi-million dollar deal to keep Friends, Netflix couldn't pull the same strings for the NBC classic The Office. Many fans took to Twitter to vent their dismay, while others praised the Lord, because maybe now people will stop basing their entire personalities on the show.
It's true; there are worthwhile shows other than The Office to fill the void of your empty, meaningless soul. Branch out and explore comedies old and the new! Find new friends through a fictional program! And finally, learn to let go when your imaginary friends outgrow you.
Mike Schur's Staples:
If you're truly an Office fan, then you will have checked out Mike Schur's other ingenious comedy projects. If not, then you're a fraud.
Parks and Recreation
This show is the obvious and safest choice to fill the The Office void in your life. With Parks and Rec, you won't miss the spectacular mockumentary format and the odd but lovable relationships that blossom in the workplace environment. Even better, the show is also set in the Middle of Nowhere, U.S.A. just like The Office!
Parks and Recreation: Chris Pratt Explains The Series In 30 Seconds | Entertainment Weeklywww.youtube.com
Runtime: 125 episodes of approximately 22 minutes.
The Good Place
Mike Schur debuted without his writing partner, Greg Daniels, as the only showrunner for The Good Place. The original sitcom king, Ted Danson, flourishes as the "architect" of the version of heaven Ellen Shellstrop (Kristen Bell) is accidentally placed in. Just when the show gets good, it gets better in ways one would never expect. Enjoy!
Runtime: 39 episodes of approximately 22 minutes. More episodes are coming.
An Oldie, But A Goodie:
Cheers!
Kids these days don't know about the Holy Grail of TV comedy. Ted Danson played the cultural phenomenon Sam Malone, a Red Sox relief pitcher who owned the bar, Cheers! This show practically founded the "will they, won't they" narrative with Sam's iconic on-and-off relationship with Diane (played by Shelley Long), a graduate psychology student turned barmaid. Cheers! became one of the first American sitcoms to explore love and loss while redefining the notion of family— it's simple and epic.
You'll never have to worry about Netflix originals disappearing off the platform. Choose one of their many original comedies to enjoy, and then petition after Netflix cancels it.
Grace and Frankie
Imagine, your husband of over 40 years takes you out to dinner with his longtime law partner and his partner's wife. You and the wife are hopeful and confident your husbands are going to announce their retirement. Instead, they tell their wives they are leaving them, for each other.
Jane Fonda and Lily Tomlin shine as Grace and Frankie, the two wives in their '70s who have no one in their lives who understand their situation except each other. It's an absurd and hilarious effort to showcase the trials of aging women in the modern era, changing family dynamics, and sisterhood.
Grace and Frankie | Official Trailer [HD] | Netflixwww.youtube.com
Runtime: 65 episodes of a variation of 25-35 minutes. More episodes to come.
Big Mouth
You know that American Doll puberty book you read when you were 12? No? Does that only apply to women? Well, try to imagine a puberty book that came to life as an animated show starring John Mulaney and Nick Kroll. Are you intrigued? Are you already invested? I thought so. Also, Maya Rudolph voices the Hormone Monstress—I probably should've started with that.
Runtime: 21 episodes of a variation of 25-46 minutes. More episodes to come.
American Vandal
American Vandal took mockumentaries to a whole new level by deep diving into the world of high school investigative journalism. The show kicks off with the trial of Dylan Maxwell, a troubled high school senior, who is accused of vandalizing 27 vehicles with phallic images (dicks). The true crime satire showcases what it's really like to be a teen today, using social media to propel the story forward in a ridiculous fashion. Netflix may have cancelled the show after its second season, but American Vandal has already earned its cult status.
American Vandal | Official Trailer [HD] | Netflixwww.youtube.com
Runtime: 16 episodes of a variation of 25-42 minutes.
In a culture that grows increasingly irony-poisoned and irony-fatigued, we're embracing a brand of emotional comedy that values earnestness over cynicism.
Photo by Marion Curtis (StarPix for WestBeth/Shutterstock)
One year ago, we met Hannah Gadsby in her deeply introspective, game-changing Netflix comedy special Nanette.
Since then, the 41-year-old Australian has defied categorization. From prompting thoughtful critiques about the social function of comedy to living in an openly lesbian relationship while resisting labels for her gender and orientation ("I identify as tired, just tired," she quips), Gadsby is hard to define—other than as one of the finest comedians today. But she's better described as a comedian of the future. She's continued to challenge and transcend the genre, with detractors arguing that her art doesn't even constitute stand-up comedy. She shrugs off the discontent with her persistence that art is humane; it lacks boundaries between the personal and political, the tawdry and philosophical. Ultimately, she's post-irony—not as an edgy statement, but as an individual who's wary of the self-satire of self-effacement. Instead, she fills the performance space with intimate and earnest confessions. In a culture that grows increasingly irony-poisoned and irony-fatigued, we're embracing a brand of emotional comedy that values earnestness over cynicism.
Hannah Gadsby: Nanette | Official Trailer [HD] | Netflixyoutu.be
Emotional comedy is the logical conclusion of a decade of cynical and ironic media that preserves our emotional barriers but ultimately strips us of genuine connection. While it's "a widely embraced default setting for social interaction, writing, and the visual art," Salonwrites, "irony fosters an affected nihilistic attitude that is no edgier than a syndicated episode of 'Seinfeld.'" It's normal to crave connection, and Gadsby does so boldly. Among the first reviews of Nanette, Slate's Andrew Kahn wrote, "Nanette challenges an idea of comedy, humor as truth-telling, that passed as common sense until pretty recently," he writes. "Over the past two years, that idea has come in for a bruising—if not on the stage, certainly in the public square, where buffoonish politicians, racist trolls, and abusive comedians have stoked a debate about the perils of irony. This show ought to be seen as a product of that debate: When you take the anti-irony train all the way to the end of the line, one place you can end up is 'Nanette.'"
Nanette was critically acclaimed for Gadsby's blending of personal anecdotes, confession, and politics. She combats our cultural reflex towards cynicism with her self-acceptance and confident rejection of societal expectations that she's not interested in fulfilling—as a comedian, artist, queer person, rape survivor, woman who's exercised her right to have an abortion, or person with autism. She tells her audience, "I don't want to unite you with laughter or anger. I just need my story heard." She reflects in a recent Variety interview, "I didn't set out to speak about anybody else's experience other than my own and feel incredibly humbled to think that I may have articulated an experience felt by so many others all over the world. Humbled and saddened, I guess." Regardless, Gadsby sees her prominence as an opportunity: "I deal with the responsibility of being out and proud and even loud as much as I possibly can because there are people who need to see me. I don't need to see me." She added dryly, "I see me every day. But I understand the importance of being a public person who can be representative of a minority."
I Think You Should Leave with Tim Robinson | Official Trailer [HD] | Netflixwww.youtube.com
So what's the appeal of a 70-minute set from a comedian who runs the gamut from the overrated qualities of Game of Thrones to Christianity's misogyny, "manspreading" as a form of colonization, and Taylor Swift? Well, of course, Gadsby is funny, extending embarrassing personal anecdotes into vivid caricatures of shame, while shooting the occasional quick-witted barb. She's also weird. Media and art are always looking to speak against history's focus on heteronormative, neurotypical, and politically neutral stories; but, today's comedy particularly embraces the off-kilter and not-quite-normal, from the socially awkward sketch comedy of I Think You Should Leave with Tim Robinson (which Netflix just renewed for a second season) to the cringe comedy of HBO's Insecure. In Gadsby's view, "I think sometimes people find me endearingly odd, and that's fine," she says. "But it is troubling when you don't know what it is."
Despite being named as one of the most powerful people in comedy earlier this week, Gadsby's troubles culminated in 2018 when she planned to leave comedy after over a decade of performing. Aside from struggling to accept her non-normative identities ("You know what I reckon my problem is? I don't lesbian enough," she quips in Nanette), she attributed her desire to quit to a pervasive feeling of irony fatigue: "I built a career out of self-deprecating humor. That's what I've built my career on. And… I don't want to do that anymore. Because do you understand what self-deprecation means when it comes from somebody who already exists in the margins? It's not humility. It's humiliation. I put myself down in order to speak, in order to seek permission to speak. And I simply will not do that anymore. Not to myself or anybody who identifies with me." She adds, "And if that means that my comedy career is over, then so be it."
Hot corner shop action - Fleabag: Episode 2 - BBC Threewww.youtube.com
Luckily, it wasn't. Gadsby continues to lead a rising style of comedy that doesn't just embrace oddity; it ultimately does so in order to combat shame. In regards to her critics, Gadsby toldVariety, "What I find so funny about these men getting so angry about comedy is, for starters, it's all made up. Laughter is biological, human—and I'm not a straight white man so that culture can fuck off." Gadsby surmises that her popularity is due to her frank voice about traditionally silent experiences, from identifying as queer in the conservative society of Tasmania to having autism. "I think what I have, and it's something I've had to work really hard at, is an absence of shame," she says. "That feels more important to me than an active position of pride."
Gadsby represents a kind of emotional comedy that we as a society weren't ready for even 10 years ago. After all, earnest sharing-and-caring is taxing to sit through; it's harder to satisfy an audience when art takes emotional labor. But today, rather than the edge lord obscenity of the 80s and 90s and the slapstick parodies of the early 2000s, popular comedies are repackaging the heartfelt messages of the after-school sitcom with embarrassing self-awareness. Fleabag's emotional depths are mined by awkwardness and heart-wrenching dialogue. Pen 15 has been called "grossly uncomfortable" but with "fine sensitivity" to middle school angst. One of Netflix's genre-defining standouts, the coming-of-age animated series Big Mouth, employs truth-telling and cringe humor to create starkly relatable and surprisingly poignant stories of adolescence. As Collider points out, the comedy's success lies in its bald depictions of "generations' worth of shame, guilt, perversion, confusion, rocky relationships and dating disasters to deliver an absolutely bonkers portrayal of what it looks, feels, and even smells like to be a teenager transitioning into adulthood." But, like Gadsby, "it also succeeds as meaningful storytelling by delivering these sex-crazed snippets in an earnest way."
One year ago, almost to the day, Hannah Gadsby's Nanette was "the most discussed comedy special in ages," as covered by The New York Times. She repackaged modern comedy as a method to speak truths honestly rather than through the guise of parody or cynicism. That kind of earnest comedy is uncomfortable because it feels foreign yet innate: sometimes truths aren't funny, but defense mechanisms don't define a sense of humor any more than they define a whole person. Ultimately, Gadsby is an "octopi." She says, "I used to really be guarded about my brain thoughts. But I realized that what's interesting about me is my brain. That's why I wear a little octopus." She wears a pin of the animal, endeared to her for the fact that octopuses have nine brains (they also have three hearts). "I kind of feel like that with autism, because of my sensitivity to my environment," she explains. "So I identify not only as 'tired,' but as 'octopi.'"
Variety
