Conor Kenny
Staff Writer
“When will I learn? The answer to life’s problems aren’t at the bottom of a bottle, they’re on TV!”
Homer Simpson
Next month, The Simpsons is about to make televisual history as it reaches it’s 500th episode. I am evidently not the only one for whom the previous 200 episodes have passed by largely without notice, but rather shamelessly, some might argue, the satirical cartoon is still seemingly attempting to convince the viewing public of its relevance. What do I mean by this? Aside from the steady decline in viewing figures that The Simpsons has experienced this decade, there has been a growing feeling among many of its fans that the show is now completely out of touch with the citizens of America. I recently sat down to watch the tenth episode of season 23, “Politically Inept With Homer Simpson”, and found myself watching a program that seemed unhealthily interested in evoking cheap laughter (and proving largely unsuccessful in doing so), while failing to make any serious social points. I understand that it seems rather snooty to analyze the subject matter in this way, but please bear in mind that the main strength of The Simpsons in its prime was its ability to induce contagious hilarity with the surrealism of its sketches, while simultaneously delivering a subtle critique of American suburbia. I’ll be damned if I let future generations think that an episode in which Ted Nugent runs for President was in anyway representative of this show at its peak.
Another significant reason for the slow and painful death of the greatest television show of all time has been the emergence of an edgier, and excessively cruder, rival. Seth McFarlane claimed that he came up with the idea for Family Guy while watching an episode of The Simpsons, and thought to himself that he could produce something similar, only superior. I understand that many people of my generation feel that he has achieved this, but for some reason the appeal of Family Guy has always eluded me. Sure, The Simpsons could be unduly unctuous and ingratiating from time to time, but for the first nine seasons the show never lost its intellect. McFarlane’s show, with its copious amount of cutaway gags and chicken fights, doesn’t really cut the mustard for me, as much as I would have been pleased to see a suitable rival shake some life into Groening and his writers. That is not to say that Family Guy is undeserving of any credit. McFarlane, for all his lack of taste, can be an impressive gag writer, and Mila Kunis is by far and away one of the most talented voice actors of her generation. But there is something slightly nasty about the tone of Family Guy. When a picture of Peter Griffin was featured in an episode of The Simpsons in a wanted poster for plagiarism, McFarlane and his writers decided to respond in a manner that was less than witty, and far from funny. In case none of you have seen it yet, the scene from the show in which Quagmire is heard to be raping Marge Simpson is available for viewing online.
There are some who even believe that there is another challenger to the excellence of Matt Groening’s creation. South Park is, from a quick glance at the ‘likes’ of my friends on Facebook, about half as popular as Family Guy, but some maintain that Trey Parker actually conjures up the kind of social critiques in this cartoon that The Simpsons has been lacking of late. If only this were true. Far from satirizing the American conservative mindset, South Park (for the most part at least), ridicules the very kind of people who criticize those rightist tenets. The series, and Parker’s dreadfully humorless “Team America”, is a metaphoric wet dream for those who feel that The Daily Show and The Colbert Report are examples of extreme left-wing invective. Doubtless some will be reading this criticism and misconstrue it as politically selective analysis on my part, but this is not the case by any means. There is just something very obsequious and unfunny about sucking up to the status quo through comedy.
So why is The Simpsons on an entirely different playing field to these pretenders? Well, there are several good arguments for this assertion. As already alluded to above, The Simpsons pulled no punches in mocking several aspects of conservative America with devastating finesse. “Last Exit to Springfield”, the seventeenth installment of season four, is considered by many fans to be the shows best ever episode, and for good reason. In this tour de force, Homer becomes a trade union kingpin, and manages to win back the Nuclear Power Plant dental plan that his sociopathic boss has ruthlessly tricked his co-workers into conceding. The script for this installment is simply sublime. Aside from illustrating the dangers of unlimited corporate power and the championing the value of unions in the workplace, “Last Exit” also contains a plethora of memorable references to films such as Batman and Citizen Kane, and even an unforgettable take on the ‘infinite monkey theorem’. My favourite segment still remains the two consecutive scenes in which Homer agonizingly philosophizes over the concept of “hired goons”. In order to convey the utter brilliance of this episode, it should be pointed out that it is now used as study material for sociology at Berkeley. This particular edition is typical of the refined surrealism melded with virtuosity that seemed to be emanating from the writers Kogen and Wolodarsky at this point in time, an era that now seems increasingly distant with every passing season.
And yet despite this satire (in my view the finest of this ilk since Dr. Strangelove), The Simpsons was capable of evoking emotion, and yes, even a tear on occasion. The closing sequence to “Duffless”, in which Homer and Marge cycle off into the sunset while singing “Raindrops keep falling on my head”, both yanks at the heartstrings and evokes internal warmth at once. And who could forget the tear-jerking finale to “One Fish, Two Fish, Blowfish, Blue Fish”, in which Marge discovers that Homer, despite the previous medical prognosis, has in fact survived the consumption of a poisonous fish. Perhaps it’s just me, but I struggle to fathom the deferential fawning over the last ever Blackadder episode in comparison to writing of this standard. Perhaps it’s that familiar case of the British not wanting to admit that somebody else is better at yet another art they once claimed preeminence of? A fan though I also am of Fawlty Towers, nobody is going to convince me that the character of the hapless Basil Fawlty is even a tenth as funny as Homer Simpson.
Alas, the demise of The Simpsons began years ago, long before the burst kidney plots and the apocalyptic farce storyline of the film. Many pinpoint the origin of this cancer at the moment when Seymour Skinner is revealed as an imposter in “The Principal and the Pauper” in season nine, but this seems far too specific to me. It would be better to make the less controversial assertion that the show gradually declined in quality after the promotion of Mike Scully to the post of showrunner from seasons nine to twelve. Make no mistake about it; those who think that The Simpsons is nothing more than a myriad of brainless sketches and clichéd catchphrases have only been watching the episodes created since his stewardship began.
I’d like to bring this article to it’s conclusion by making the argument that seasons three to eight of The Simpsons might be the greatest collection of writings since those of Shakespeare. This may sound both ludicrous and bombastic, but please pause and consider the sheer magnitude of the show’s legacy for a moment. When you have done that, cogitate over how future generations will view the satirical storylines of the series in centuries to come. Such a prediction may draw scorn and derision from cynics, but heed them not. These are the same people who sneer today when Jon Stewart is compared to Gore Vidal, and who sneered forty years ago when The Beatles were compared to Mozart. But until it is appreciated after its time, all The Simpsons can do is attempt to fight in vain against a younger, punchier rival, and remain determined to demonstrate that it is not yet in the twilight of its life. Or, God willing, they’ll just throw in the towel now, and vacate the ‘gime’.
