(lighthearted jingle)
- What's up guys, Michael here.
It's no secret that the Wisecrack team loves Dan Harmon,
whether he's getting weirdly existential...
- Existence is pain to a meseeks!
- [Michael] ...Or sending a study group
on a world historical game
of "The Floor Is Lava."
Harmon's brand of weird humor has kept us entertained
for over a decade.
But what is it that makes his work
so distinctively...
Harmon-esque?
To the point where
his being kicked off a season of Community
resulted in a markedly different show?
We think we've figured it out,
and it has everything to do
with his unique take on characters.
And we don't just mean stuff like this.
- Me, Morty, Jerry, Beth, Mr. Poopybutthole, and Summer.
- [Michael] Join us as we dig
into what makes Harmon's work unique
in this Wisecrack Edition on
How Dan Harmon Writes a Character.
And, spoilers ahead for lots of sitcoms.
Before we get into it,
I want to take a second to talk
about Wisecrack's Patreon
and how it can help you connect
with your own study group of sorts,
full of characters who would seem
right at home on any Harmon show.
Well, maybe just Community, but you get the point.
Wisecrack's patrons get awesome perks,
like early access to ad-free free versions
of all of our videos,
a private discord server for Wisecrack fans
to hang out and chat about everything
from video games to hiking,
to of course, philosophy,
and regular patron-only streams
where we chat about recent Wisecrack content,
tell you about upcoming videos before anyone else,
and occasionally play games like Siblings or Dating?
It's a real thing, I swear.
And memberships start at just $2,
which is cheaper than a cheesy gordita crunch.
Best of all,
the community you'll find on the Wisecrack Patreon
will help you feel like you have a new family
that has zero expectations for you to grow as a person,
or learn any life-changing lessons.
So, probably better than your actual family.
So go to patreon.com/wisecrack today to check it out.
Now, back to the show.
- I can tell life from TV, Jeff.
TV makes sense, it has structure, logic, rules,
and likable leading men.
In life we have this.
We have you.
- To understand what makes
Dan Harmon's characters so distinctive,
we have to understand how, in many ways,
they're exactly what you'd find in 99%
of classic sitcoms with a major dose
of his sad bearded energy.
Let's start with a classic rule of TV sitcoms:
characters don't change.
We tune in week after week
expecting to see approximately the same people
getting up to approximately the same antics.
Rather than explicitly undergoing
some kind of transformation,
they typically develop something
scholar Roberta Pearson calls character accumulation.
That's the process wherein we learn
new traits or quirks about a character
that remain consistent with our existing concept of them,
as say, a weird and horny teenager.
- You know, I thought that robot over there
looked pretty cool, you know.
- [Michael] That's not to say the spirit of change
is explicitly absent --
TV sitcoms often dangle
the promise of change in front of us
without actually delivering.
It's what scholar Jason Mittell calls character education,
that is, where a character learns something about themselves
and promises to change.
- I learned something today.
- [Michael] "However," he writes,
"those lessons rarely stick
and we return to a narrative status quo each week."
Of course, TV has gotten more complicated in recent decades
and we do see more and more exceptions to the rule
via longer-term character education
and character growth,
i.e. maturation.
This is most explicitly demonstrated on The Good Place,
which bakes education and growth into its plot
by structuring much of the series
around the characters' collective quest
to become good.
These changes tend to increase audience sympathies,
like when a literal demon learns to be human.
- I'll say this to you, my friend,
with all the love in my heart,
and all the wisdom of the universe:
Take it sleazy.
- [Michael] Other shows may indicate character growth
near the tail end of the series,
like when a rude paper salesman mellows out
into a slightly less rude regional manager.
But Harmon puts his own spin on the formula.
At first glance, this might not seem obvious.
In Community,
his writing often steers into classic sitcom archetypes
giving us a set of characters who,
on the surface, feel recognizable,
if a whole lot more meta.
- I have a placeholder so setup
it makes analogies look like punchlines.
- My setup lacks awareness, but my punchline doesn't know.
- Abusively cynical one-liner
dismissing everything you just said.
- Absurd reaction!
- [Michael] Just like in a traditional sitcom,
we see character accumulation
via the choices these characters make
that help us understand their true nature.
Even when the choice is just who gets the pizza.
- Just so you know, Jeff,
you are now creating six different timelines.
- Of course I am, Abed.
- [Michael] But the interesting thing
about this brand of character accumulation
is that it often demonstrates
the true depths of characters' dysfunctions.
When Abed has a Christmas-themed breakdown
where he and his friends turn into claymation characters,
we realize the severity of his abandonment issues.
The revelation isn't
a nice sitcom-style moment of clarity
about Abed overcoming his dysfunction...
- Mommy's moved on.
New family, new life.
- [Michael] But more of a claymation method
of showing us how complex characters,
and real people,
can be.
Harmon also sometimes uses character accumulation
to demonstrate the outright bad inner nature
of his characters,
subverting our expectations of sitcom characters to be,
deep down, good people.
So, for example, almost everything Pierce says.
- How was I supposed to know it was a handicapped space?
- Because the man in the wheelchair was yelling it.
- Oh yeah, and he doesn't have an agenda.
- [Michael] And in the case of Chang,
we see a bad character supposedly redeem himself
only to learn that he's just playing an evil long-con.
- And when the works accidentally go off,
when I hit the final note of my awesome keytar solo,
they'll burn up the school's records
and all evidence of my misdeeds.
- [Michael] But the most satisfying way
Harmon messes with tropes
is in his treatment of character education.
His characters may go through the same process
of encountering a problem
and attempting to solve that problem the wrong way,
but they skip the last part:
learning a lesson or changing in a meaningful way.
Harmon plays with this trope
by explicitly assuring the audience
that his characters have not changed.
When we think a Harmon character has become better
over the course of an episode,
chances are they'll prove our assumptions wrong
before the credits roll.
In Rick and Morty's Vat of Acid episode,
Rick appears to have reflected on his defensive actions
after Morty criticizes his fake vat of acid.
- I'm sorry, I just, I lash out sometimes,
I don't know why I do that.
I'm so ashamed of myself.
Hearing you talk about that vat,
it really opened my eyes
like what the (beep) am I even doing?
- [Michael] He even goes out of his way
to create a place-saving device
that lets Morty do whatever he wants.
His self-reflection seems like a genuine moment
of character revelation,
only for the true, horrifying revelation to come later.
- You see Morty,
you weren't saving your place and going back.
The only real hitch is there was already a you
in each probable dimension,
so we had to solve for that.
(lasers zapping) (Morty crying out)
I gave you a choice,
you could listen to me explain
in great scientific detail how it all works,
or you could have fun.
Did you have fun, Morty?
- Is this because of the vat?
- No.
- [Michael] This backsliding,
where characters appear to develop
but quickly showcase their lack of development
is common for Harmon's characters,
especially those like Rick
and the previously mentioned Senor Chang.
And it's precisely these dysfunctions
that make Harmon's characters oddly relatable.
As messed up people who don't ever really change
are much more reflective of the world around us
than scrappy upstarts who ostensibly learn a lesson
over the course of 22 minutes.
- I'm sorry.
- Harmon takes his characters off the endless cycle
of "encounter a problem," "make a mistake,"
"learn," "rinse and repeat next week".
In this way he plays with sitcom rules
to make characters that feel dynamic and surprising.
- I think we got into this mess
by thinking there was such a thing as better people.
Pierce admitted he was flawed, and he died rich!
- [Michael] Another way Harmon messes
with conventional sitcom storytelling
is the way he builds romantic relationships,
specifically by giving us unfulfilling
and largely inconsequential love stories.
Typical sitcom romantic storylines
usually feature two attractive characters
gradually getting together
in a fashion that feels inevitable --
Whether it's the classic on again off again romance
between Ross and Rachel,
slow burn office romances like Jake and Amy,
or Jim and Pam
or a classic love-triangle scenario.
We're used to these storylines ending the same,
with romantic climax,
often in a season finale
before settling down in a fulfilling long-term relationship.
Harmon's romantic arcs have less of a
"will they or won't they" vibe
and more of a "please God, I hope they don't".
Sitcom rules usually dictate that the two hottest characters
get together and settle down.
Or, as Shirley puts it:
- I don't see why you and Britta aren't together,
two cute white people going to school together,
it just seems right.
- [Michael] But what we see
in Harmon's shows is vastly different.
Instead of using romance to anchor the plot
and keep audiences invested,
Harmon uses it
to showcase the dysfunctions of his characters.
- How am I gonna die with her if I can't even talk to her?
- [Michael] For starters,
his love interests aren't entirely likable.
And sometimes, they're not even people.
- I don't understand.
- Isn't it obvious Morty?
I (beep) a planet.
- [Michael] In place of the classic romantic leads
we're used to,
we get a failed lawyer who lies to get what he wants...
- Uh, I would say anything to get what I want
and I want you to like me, so...
- [Michael] Or a slacktivist
who seems completely uninterested
- Wait. So, so this is a game to you?
You put human beings into a state of emotional shambles
for a shot at getting in my pants?
- [Michael] Instead of high-school sweethearts,
we two get people who happened
to go to high-school together.
- Were you that girl that got hooked on pills
and then dropped out?
You're little Annie Adderall.
- And you're a stupid jock who lost his scholarship
by dislocating both shoulders in a keg stand!
- Keg flip, they're very hard to pull off.
- [Michael] And then they end up
as nothing more than friends.
And that's without even mentioning the host
of disturbing romantic interests in Rick and Morty,
several of whom appear to be adult women
interested in dating a teenage boy.
- You weren't a 14-year-old boy from the Midwest
who ran away from his family
and capitalized on his lack of conscience
by becoming a stock broker?
- Whether they're part of the main cast
or just in a couple of episodes,
Harmon's characters aren't set up
to be likable romantic leads --
They're set up to feel real.
Often a romantic storyline ends with the realization
that a character is better off without their love interest,
like when Rick's lack of maturity
prompts an entire hive mind to go off the rails.
- [Man] I realize now that I'm attracted to you
for the same reason I can't be with you.
You can't change.
- [Man] And I have no problem with that,
but it clearly means I have a problem with myself.
- [Michael] Harmon also intentionally deconstructs
our notions of a "happily ever after."
- Now what?
- Happily ever after.
- And after that?
- We'll find out.
- [Michael] He frequently shows us couples who,
for no apparent reason,
just don't work out.
By repeatedly breaking sitcom romantic formulas,
Harmon reflects the reality
that people don't always find their "perfect match."
- Jeff, we need to talk.
- What's wrong, are you breaking up with me?
- Oh. (laughs) Maybe we don't need to talk.
- [Michael] And the fact that romances
are rarely the centerpiece of an episode
reflects the reality most sitcoms refuse to address:
that life is about a lot more than just finding "the one."
By refusing to put romances center-stage,
Harmon is showing us that we're not made complete
by finding the perfect romantic partner,
and that friendship might be just as valuable.
- All I ever wanted in high school
was for Troy Barnes to notice me.
Then I ended up living with you.
I'm pretty lucky.
- I'm not.
I had a chance to be your friend in high school
but, I was too busy trying to be cool.
I missed out on four more years of Annie.
- Aw.
- So, what, if anything, is Harmon trying to teach us
with this unorthodox take on sitcom tropes?
Other than setting some sort of record
for "most sociopaths on a single sitcom," of course.
Well, for classic sitcoms,
their primary purpose is simply entertainment,
whether it happens
by making us laugh, cry, smile, or cringe.
But, while being entertaining,
sitcoms often try to teach us lessons
through a character's episodic journeys.
As previously noted,
most sitcoms' central characters
start an episode faced with a problem,
which ends up teaching them an unexpected lesson
along the way.
These lessons are typically easy to understand
and used to showcase
bite-sized character education within episodes.
Like this episode of Scrubs,
where Dr. Cox struggles to accept the death of a friend,
but by the end is able to cope with his loss
and mourn thanks to the help of his hospital buddies.
With Harmon, not so much.
His sitcoms aren't completely devoid of lessons
or meaningful commentary...
- Stop making our hatred of ourselves someone else's job
and just stop hating ourselves.
- [Michael] But, much of the time, he avoids them entirely,
as in having his grandpa/grandson duo
forget their dramatic and instructive episode-long journey
because their memories were erased.
- All those memories just erased!
- [Michael] As a result,
Rick's never forced to learn from his biggest failures.
- There's a lesson here
and I'm not the one who's going to figure it out,
- [Michael] And when an occasional episode
does offer a moral,
it'll often immediately be subverted,
as in the aforementioned vat of acid episode.
- Don't ever make fun of me again, ever!
- [Michael] And on the truly rare occasion
when Harmon does offer a really salient lesson,
he does so only once it's too late
to actually make a difference.
- Holy (beep), I'm a terrible father.
- [Michael] We also see
this irreverent approach on Community,
like when Pierce fakes being on his deathbed
to wreak havoc in the study group
by giving them gifts
specifically tailored to their weaknesses.
Annie, as the brains of the group,
believes she's solved the riddle of Pierce's lesson.
- You're trying to show me the dangers of my own elitism.
My constant striving to be the best.
So I'm re-queathing this tiara.
Because if I become the kind of person
who thinks it's their place to pick favorites
and torture the rest,
I'll die sad and alone.
And that's what you were trying to teach me.
- [Michael] Of course, in reality:
- She's actually just my favorite.
- [Michael] On a more traditional show,
Pierce would be trying to teach each character to grow,
not intentionally capitalizing on their daddy issues,
- Hello?
- [Man] (over phone) Jeffrey, this is your father.
- [Michael] Or triggering their fears
of the host of Reading Rainbow, LeVar Burton.
- Hi, I'm LeVar Burton.
- Perhaps Harmon's not only telling us
that it's unlikely that characters will change
within a single episode,
but that maybe most people don't change that often either.
And so Harmon's stories don't seek
to inspire change in the viewer.
Or, as Abed puts it in Community's finale:
- TV defeats its own purpose when it's pushing an agenda,
or trying to defeat other TV
or being proud or ashamed of itself for existing.
- [Michael] It's not just how Harmon tells stories
that plays with the rules of sitcoms --
It's also how he ends them.
Traditionally,
a sitcom will end with the characters we love
getting their dream jobs,
their romantic climax,
or both.
A show's series finale often acts
as the final stage of a character arc,
where a character is finally rewarded for their change.
Showing us that if we're good, hard-working people,
things will eventually work out for us.
Naturally season, and especially series, finales
tend to be happy.
Schitt's Creek's series finale
is literally called "Happy Ending,"
and sees all of its characters find joy.
- And all we can wish,
for our families,
for those we love,
is that that wind
will eventually places us on solid ground.
And I believe it's done just that for my family here.
In this little town.
In the middle of nowhere.
- [Michael] Community's finale
was far less conventionally rewarding,
serving up a hearty dose of reality
rather than a heart warming fantasy.
The characters find contentment, and even happiness,
in their lives without having any dramatic growth
or shift in character.
Though it's not necessarily anti-climatic,
there's no grand celebration
or huge romantic come-to-Jesus.
- The others are coming,
I think you should kiss me goodbye
or you might regret it for the rest of your life.
- What about you?
- I'll regret the kiss for a week.
I'm in my twenties, who cares?
- [Michael] Rather than eventually
landing their dream careers,
Jeff doesn't return to law
and Britta is still making Moscow mules at happy hour.
Even when characters do get their happy endings,
like Annie and Abed who move away to pursue their careers,
the show's finale focuses on the discomfort and uncertainty
in each character's life as they move on.
Characters aren't necessarily happy
with the ending they're given.
- You're gonna be fine, you know.
- I don't want to be fine.
I want to be 25 and heading out into the world.
- [Michael] The central message of Community's finale
is that nothing lasts forever.
- It's TV. It's comfort.
It's a friend you've known so well and for so long.
You just let it be with you.
- [Michael] And that nothing stays the same.
- Jeff, I know it comforts you
to look at things through that meta lens,
but this is reality.
TV's rules aren't based on common sense,
they're based on a studio
wanting to milk their properties dry.
- [Woman] Hear, hear!
- Harmon's ending embraces this uncertainty,
not only of being in a series
which goes from cancellation to renewal seemingly at random,
but maybe more significantly,
of life itself.
We see characters who are unsure
of who they are and unsure of what the future holds.
His reluctance to give us
a traditionally satisfying ending for these characters
reflects that most people don't get their dream job,
or even really know what their dream job is,
and spend most of their life chasing mundane dreams
and making mistakes.
- Well, I want to live in the same home
for more than a year,
order wine without feeling nervous,
have a resume full of crazy mistakes instead of crazy lies.
- [Michael] But the most important lesson
for Harmon might be
that it's okay if we never have our TV endings,
as that's not how life works.
Also we don't get to take commercial breaks
and no phone numbers start with 555.
So, does Dan Harmon write the kind of characters
that show us how to dream big, love bigger,
and make all of our dreams come true?
No, no not at all.
- Why do you keep doing this to us?
- I don't know, Morty,
maybe I hate myself,
maybe I think I deserve to die?
- [Michael] But does he write the kind of characters
that are relatable precisely because of their flaws,
their insecurities and their failures?
We think so.
And while Rick and Morty and Community
might not make you forget about reality
the way a traditional sitcom might,
they'll at least remind you
that reality isn't always so bad.
But what do you guys think?
Is Harmon breaking the rules in subtle, interesting ways?
Is that what makes his shows so compulsively watchable?
Let us know in the comments.
Big thanks to our patrons for keeping us on the air.
Hit that subscribe button like you're Dan Harmon
smashing the rules of character development
and don't forget to ring that bell
And as always, thanks for watching.
Later.
(lively upbeat music)