Culture Blues

Every so often in "Why didn't you watch...?" we take a look at a television series that was criminally and irresponsibly canceled before its time; taking a critical look at the show while also delving into what was wrong with all of you people that you couldn't tune in for 30 or 60 minutes each week. The rules are simple: the show must have been canceled, it can't have lasted for two full seasons, and we have to like it. So, why didn't you watch...

Sometimes, a show can succeed in spite of potentially debilitating limitations. The Loop features one (count ‘em) impeccable character/performance, a lot of energy and an overabundance of dirty jokes and double entendres. That might not sound like a recipe for a worthwhile show, but in this case it was more than enough.

The Loop centers on Sam Sullivan’s work/personal life balancing act (at least in the first season, I’ll get to the second season later). Sam is fresh out of college, the youngest executive in the history of TA Airways and living in Chicago with his slacker older brother, a grad student he has a crush on and a ditzy female bartender. Sam’s ridiculously demanding boss, Russ (Philip Baker Hall in that one impeccable performance), inhibits his ability to live it up with his less burdened roommates. And he calls Sam “Thesis” due to Sam’s thesis paper that got him his job. If this sounds like the set up for tired sitcom plots, that’s because it is. Surprisingly, the humor of the show isn’t generally derived from Sam trying to simultaneously please his friends and his boss. Instead, it comes from just how extreme the demands of his two lives are. After a night of heavy drinking, Sam wakes up in Mexico when he’s supposed to be at work. He makes it back to work only to have the magic marker bra he’s sporting from last night (he did Naked Mathematics too) revealed during his presentation at an executive meeting.

Looks like a normal day at Culture Blues HQ.

The writers of The Loop even take pleasure in subverting obvious sitcom situations immediately after setting them up. When Sam is ordered to take a flight to Hong Kong on Virgin Air, he’s afraid to break his date with a girl he’s already blown off, so he hatches a plan to bring her with him and disguise the whole thing as a date (ballin’). When they get to the airport and Sam’s two bosses appear and say they’ll be flying as well, no one would blame you for dreading scenes of Sam on the plane bouncing back and forth between bosses and date. But before you’re done rolling your eyes, Sam is getting dragged out of the airport by his bosses, deserting the girl who then ends up getting on the plane and flying to Hong Kong all by herself! A little unlikely? Absolutely. But it’s proof of an admirable level of self awareness. The Loop may employ some raunchy humor, but that’s not to say it features no sophistication.

Speaking of the raunchy humor, it is sublime. The workplace dialogue is just jam packed with lewd sex talk (overt and otherwise), inappropriate language and double entendres. From offhand sexual harassment to sexcapades with celebrities to bringing Sam in on a “two-hander” (I’m not sure why this is dirty, but in the context of the show it most certainly is). There is even one point where a character uses the word “cocksureness.” There is no joke. There is no double entendre. But I am 100% certain that the writers chose that word solely so that the character would say “cock.”

This all may not sound funny to you. For sure, the power of these jokes comes more from their quantity and the rapid deadpan manner in which they are delivered and less from their immaculate design. However, there is something satisfying and, I would argue, artful about the way the episodes are saturated with these jokes.

The Loop certainly aims for your funny bone more than your heart, but it isn’t as emotionally stunted as, let’s say, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Sam’s longing after the sweet roommate/really good friend with a boyfriend is a bit shallow, but it’s also relatable and makes him more sympathetic. Likewise, with the way his Peter Pan syndrome (harmfully exacerbated by those around him without adult responsibilities) clashes violently with his ambition, drive, and passion for airplanes (seriously, that’s how they explain it).

The greatest Senile, Wisecracking, World-Weary Veteran ever.

Unfortunately, things take a violent turn downhill in the second season. All of a sudden it’s just Sam and his brother living together, and we rarely see their apartment. Instead we are treated to scenes in Russ’ office and the executive lounge. The show is no longer about balancing the party life and the executive life, and the added dimension of Sam’s unrequited love for his roommate is entirely gone. They even ratchet the dirty jokes way, way down. The show becomes only about pleasing unreasonably demanding bosses. It’s so work centric that Sam meets his two short lived love interests through work. For everything that Fox took away, the writers added pratfalls (lame), made Russ more human (unnecessary and unwelcome) and gave an expanded role to some other executives (pretty good) and Sam's college “buddy”/tool Derek Tricolli (terrific – sometimes). Derek’s dialogue is mostly where the dirty jokes live in the second season, and it seems like they expect an unfair number of knee slappers to come out of his relatively scant screen time.

Don’t get me wrong, the second season is enjoyable and it maintains some of what made the first great, but it isn’t nearly as unique or fresh or entertaining. The difference between the seasons is actually a great example of how short sighted and unimaginative network executives are. They realized that most of the humor was in the workplace, so they shifted the focus of the show. This flies in the face of creators Pam Brady and Will Gluck’s original idea (the work/life balance), and ruined the dichotomy that made the show distinctive. While the majority of the laughs did come from the workplace, the network suits unfortunately failed to realize that Sam’s double life fueled much of that humor, that his life outside of the office is what separated the show from more traditional workplace comedies filled with 30 and 40-somethings, and that just because the workplace scenes and characters were funny doesn’t mean we needed to see more of them. They could have tried to, you know, make the apartment scenes funnier (personally I think they were just fine), but I guess that would have made too much sense.

Taking pot shots at consumerism.

Not surprisingly, around this time the writers started taking shots at Fox and television in general. It wasn’t nearly as venomous or overt as shows like Sports Night and Arrested Development, but they did employ jokes about synergy and product placement before 30 Rock made them commonplace, and they made fun of 24.

In March 2006, when The Loop premiered, Fox also debuted another single camera comedy with a very similar concept, Free Ride. Both featured a main protagonist just graduated from college. Both of these protagonists found it hard to honor adult responsibilities while also enjoying the uninhibited fun they became accustomed to in college. And both of them sought to take a longtime friendship to another level.

Free Ride treated the after college years somewhat realistically and seriously. The main character moved home without a job. His parents were in marriage counseling. It seemed primed to succeed in the new, more serialized world of half hour comedies. Instead, it lasted one 6 episode season, and was amusing but underwhelming.

Meanwhile, The Loop was ridiculous, manic and snarky. It offered contrived plots filled with dirty jokes and new euphemisms for sex acts. It lasted two truncated seasons for a total of 17 episodes and occasionally achieved brilliant hilarity. The Loop remains undeniable proof that sometimes it doesn’t matter what you do, as long as you do it well.