TYRANT IS THE BEST COMEDY EVER MADE (AND THAT’S SAYING SOMETHING)

Have you seen the TV series Tyrant? I have a number of things to say about it.

First, Oscar Wilde would be proud of Tyrant. Oscar Wilde always had a gigantic disdain for Realism, for Art that attempts to mirror Life. In fact, Wilde turned that commonplace on its head, controversially declaring that Life imitates Art more than Art imitates Life. And he could be right, given how much film, television and digital media are central to shaping attitudes today.

Wilde tolerates Realism only on the condition that it be Art’s raw material, and not its method. In essence, the method of fiction is invention, bare-faced lying, as Homer’s examples teach. You can see how this works with Tyrant. Although it is completely realistic that an American would blunder messianically into something he knows precious little about, Tyrant goes about its narrative with complete disregard for the tenets of Realism.

How else might Abu Khalil/Bassam Al Fayeed, a man with a completely American accent pass through a Caliphate checkpoint without having his head chopped off? How else might one pass off Sammy Al Fayeed’s jihadi/freedom-fighterly epiphany? How else might one pass off Marley Al Fayeed, lately arrived from America, interfacing with Solomon the mercenary before the deus ex machina called General Said appears to save the day? General Said would be lowered on to the stage once more, just in the nick of time to save Bassam’s disturbingly grey eyes. Tyrant is completely unbelievable, but very entertaining as well. And delight, of course, is the proper aim of Art. Wilde would approve of this deliciously Shakespearean disregard of so-called realistic conventions.

Second, I am proud of Tyrant. For me, it is one of the greatest comedies ever made, and I’ll explain why I feel so.

I have lately fallen in love with Angie Tribeca, a comedy series that attempts to turn comedy and Art on its head. We are often told one shouldn’t leave the shears hanging around after the flowers have been pruned to shape, that the scaffolding be removed after the house of fiction has been built. To disobey or disregard this dictum is to diminish the wonder of Art and the Godness of the artist.

Well, Angie Tribeca gives all of that the middle finger. It is not in the game of conceits. It does not require the viewer’s identification. It wants you to know it is Art (which of course requires transcendent Art). Clean-up crews go in after Tribeca, the eponymous lead of the series, trashes up her room, and — the absolute horror — even chat with her. Stunt doubles can be seen substituting themselves for actors. Entire SWAT squads crowd into rooms that can comfortably fit maybe five people. The entire series is a ridiculous succession of ridiculous events. Angie Tribeca is a parody of police procedurals, but it tries to be straight-faced about it. To steal a painting from a museum for instance, do this

and this

On the face of it, the dialogue is not even comic. But if ever there were a situational comedy, Angie Tribeca is it. The comic effect is the intersection of this straight-facedness and the ridiculous context in which it is situated.

But Angie Tribeca is not completely straight-faced. The ridiculous context is plainly ridiculous. And the scaffolding forewarns of subversion. Angie Tribeca is quite plainly a comedy, even if it does assault our notions of Art. Tyrant, however, achieves what Angie Tribeca can only aspire to: complete straight-facedness.

Tyrant’s raw material is the Middle Eastern nightmare of the 21st century. Pick your choice: dictatorial (almost genocidal) order or democratic chaos? A reluctant Abuddinian-American (the Abuddinian dictator’s younger son) reluctantly returns home to Abuddin for the wedding of his nephew only to find himself shaking off his reluctance and developing that peculiarly American megalomania to lead the resistance against his “incompetent” president of a brother after their father dies. His brother discovers the plot, and has the megalomaniac (not-)killed. All kinds of straight-faced highly enjoyable ridiculousnesses and coincidences ensue.

Eventually, our blundering American embarks on a redemptive pilgrimage. Abuddin is saved from itself, and the gathering clouds of its own making. The barriers to social cohesion are removed, forcibly or peacably. Fuck Shakespeare, the approach to character development is very Jekyll-and-Hyde; nifty U-turns and back, rather than ponderous nine-point turns. Idealism wins the day by way of realpolitik. Fireworks crackle. The narrative rides triumphantly into the sun. If its creators have any sense, they must resist the temptation — if there’s any — to extend this perfectly made show. They have created a work of art like no other in the history of comedy. (Apparently, they don’t have sense.)

Tyrant is completely ridiculous, but is so completely straight-faced about its complete ridiculousness. This last statement is crucial in getting the ultimate aim of Tyrant: comedy. The essential difference between Angie Tribeca and Tyrant may as well be understood in the difference between epic and dramatic theatre. The former encourages alienation; the latter obscures its grand aim by inviting identification and thus empathy. To couch this in terms more specific to my purpose, one helps you to see comedy as comedy; the other is not as generous. To get Tyrant, the viewer must work hard.