I’ve been watching the latest season of Weeds on DVD and thinking about dark comedy has matured into its own distinct television genre. It used to be that half-hour comedies had to revolve around zany family dynamics or workplace shenanigans. That changed somewhat with Seinfeld and the the like, but comedies were still breezy affairs that didn’t take many risks. It’s only because of the growing ambition of premium channels like HBO and Showtime that writers have been able to explore the funny that lurks in the shadows. And Weeds is so funny. It amplifies every stereotype about disconnected, materialistic suburban life, but not so much so that it seems absurd. In just the last few episodes of this ongoing story of a pot-dealing single mom in SoCal, it’s touched on euthanasia, mourning rituals, absent parents, political corruption, and the perils of the cross-border drug trade (natch). Bleak stuff, but the writers are experts at mining humor from the bleak. The show’s spirit is captured in this piece of dialog where slacker uncle Andy is explaining the meaning of life to his teenage nephew Silas:
Silas, look. Life is just blah blah blah. You hope for blah and sometimes you find it. But mostly it’s blah. And waiting for blah. And hoping you were right about the blahs you made. And then just when you think you’ve got the whole blah-damn thing figured out, and surrounded by the ones you blah, death shows up. And blah. Blah. Blah.
You won’t find that sentiment in an episode of Cheers.
Wait till you watch this season. Talk about dark.