Essay #1 — “Sunny Vulnerability: Representation of Sadness in Crazy Ex-Girlfriend”
Written by Participant 15
Sunny Vulnerability: Representation of Sadness in Crazy Ex-Girlfriend
Despite the early genre of CXG being “comedy”, as Rebecca Bunch would say, “the situation is a lot more nuanced than that”. A lot of the funny moments in CXG stem from a deep place of inner sadness in its characters, from Rebecca herself to the most peripheral character in the Plimpton, Plimpton & Plimpton office. Sure — every character everywhere has some sadness in them. But not many let you laugh while bursting into song.
Many can argue different takes in what makes CXGF funny (A good video essay about this is on Bagels After Midnight YT channel), which is of course a collection of different aspects, from line delivery, pace, editing (“You came!”, from the third mid-season finale, for example) and punchline. But behind all of that technicality of comedy, there’s something that sets CXG apart from others within its genre, which is the underlying sadness and vulnerability of its characters.
CXG is not a simple musical comedy — it’s a musical dramedy, in which the drama is very well hidden under all of the sexy Fosse songs and Rebecca’s denial. It only takes us a while to get it to surface — specifically, two seasons and a few episodes. The fact that the narrative took its time to get the drama to actually feature undeniably is also an indicator of how they deal with the sadness and vulnerability of its characters — it wraps them up in a bundle of joy and song and delivers.
Much of the fun comes from pain, and this is where I think the writing of the show really shines. Classical comedy is all about goofiness, insult, and in more recent years, self-depreciation. That is not the case in the core of CXG. Sure, all of those can still feature to some degree in the writing, but its centerpiece of humor comes from sadness. A deep sadness from Rebecca, for example, who suffered her entire life with depression, anxiety, insomnia, and everything that comes with an undiagnosed and mistreated mental illness, amplified by an absent father and a far-from-adequate mother figure. When we put it like that, her situation is far from comedic, isn’t it?
And then there’s Paula: jumping from one obsession to another (vampire novels, Rebecca’s love life), never fully present in her own life, dragging a marriage that up to a point in season one, was completely devoid of communication, raised by an alcoholic and verbally abusive dad, eager to do so much more with her life and yet stuck on it. And the song that best shows this is an absolute gem of humor — “Maybe this dream” contains all of her expectations of life painted with a slightly crass undertone. And behind all of the forest-y set, hilarious singing birds, and detailed account of her undies’ smell, lies Paula’s vulnerabilities and frustrations.
We also have Valencia, initially a very peripheral character that, according to Aline Brosh McKenna, was intended for only a few episodes. She starts out as an isolated character, whose sole close relationship is her boyfriend, Josh. She pretty much just hangs out with him and his friends (not hers, because like she says in 102, she doesn’t really have any friends to speak of). She has this faith that her future depends solely on him, and Valencia says so on the first season finale, right before breaking up with Josh. After that, she gets completely isolated from the plot — her only contact with social interaction was, in the end, through her boyfriend. It’s only when Rebecca goes after her that we see her again. And it’s more than plot device: Valencia stops having a social life after Josh. She dated him since they were 15, and she doesn’t know life without him, without the idea of him and their future together. She loses interest in teaching Yoga classes, and what we see in season two is a completely lost, carb-eating Valencia, pretty much the opposite of season one Valencia.
And how does the show portray that? It culminates with a Tryceratops Ballet induced by the ingestion of hallucinogens.
The list goes on. Heather’s overall insecurity of her own role in life (and what to do with it) and raised with the lowest expectations ever; Darryl’s loneliness that makes him act like a pushover in many a time, and his bubbly personality hiding his feelings of deep insecurity; Josh is a complete mess since day one, but very well hidden in his demeanor, only coming to the surface later on the series.
Even lonely, sad Tim, reaching out for human affection in moments of celebration (I’ve recently listened to a surprisingly insightful podcast with Rachel Bloom, but with a surprise appearance of Michael McMillian, the actor who plays Tim, giving his own take on the character’s motivations, that were far from funny).
It’s not only Rebecca’s vulnerabilities that drives the plot: it’s everyone else’s around her as well, hers being the main one. And yet, we laugh at it. CXG let’s us laugh at all of that with pleasure.
Recently, in an interview at Consequence of Sound, Rachel Bloom talked about how they balance the sharp humor of the series with vulnerability. She was talking primarily about her own character, but I think that knowing that she’s not only an actress in the show, but also a co-creator and writer, she’d apply the same logic that she applies to Rebecca to the other characters: “As long as I understand emotionally where she’s coming from, that’s how I ground the joke.”
And that sums up how we can watch a tv show about so much nuanced sadness and vulnerability and still be able to laugh at it not in a depreciative way, as it is common with today’s comedy, but with sympathy from where the characters are coming from. This is actually what sets CXG apart from other dramedies or musical comedies or pretty much most of what is being created for TV lately (or ever). We have yet to find such quality, nuanced writing on TV at the moment, and there’s plenty of awesome shows out there in recent years.
Taking that emotion, that often negative vulnerability, and transforming it into a joke and a song, is a rare ability — one that Rachel Bloom and Aline Brosch McKennan possess. One that lets such a delicate, underrepresented subject such as mental illness, to be featured in a musical comedy series and being awarded so much praise as being the best portrayal of mental illness on television, instead of any dark drama from a cable network.
The writing of CXG takes the sadness and makes it bright and sunny, like its characters, like we often try to live our lives, and that makes it so much more powerful and relatable.
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