‘Raising Hope’ Is the Corrective to Poverty Porn
TV audiences gawk at the poor the way we used to ogle the rich. At least watch the one show that gets it right. Even if it’s a scripted comedy
Poverty-gawking would seem to be the new wealth-ogling reality-TV trend, a kind of anti-aspirational entertainment. Is this what the recession hath wrought, a struggling middle-class yearning to find someone doing worse than they are, to make us feel better about ourselves? I suppose it’s easier on the soul than watching rich and stupidly Kardashian. The only thing separating a Kardashian and a Honey Boo Boo before the latter got famous, is, well, lots and lots of money, after all. Yet few shows, be they reality shows like, well, Here Comes Honey Boo Boo, to the scripted, say, a dramedy like Shameless, tend to make a joke out of the struggling American. But, hey, that’s entertainment.
And then there’s Fox’s Raising Hope, which is the exception — and it’s truly exceptional. It portrays poverty better than any comedy on air, because it is totally unflinching and unromantic, while preserving the humor. We see the hand-me down clothing, the broken appliances, the rickety old furniture. But the Chance family, for the most parent, doesn’t dwell on shame, or feel a need to justify their existence, and neither do they sit and take it when others judge them. Which is what makes this sitcom so appealing. Well that, and the two brilliant seasoned comic actresses Martha Plimpton and Cloris Leachman.
But, still, it’s easy to overlook Raising Hope because the sets don’t burst with color, or cheer or charm, the dialogue makes no pretense at moving at a Sorkin-ian clip, and the show breaks no ground in content or style. Yet, in a televisual world obsessed with things like modern families, new normals, and attempts to show the real face of America, Raising Hope distinguishes itself as the best of this bunch, and more strikingly, as one of the only remaining TV shows to depict a lower-middle class (as Plimpton’s Virginia would say, lower-, lower-, lower-middle-class) family that feels true to life, relentlessly funny, and emotionally satisfying all without calling attention to itself as such. It’s far from perfect, with few-to-no African-Americans on the show, but it achieves despite the hurdles.
The premise is this: Jimmy (Lucas Neff), the 18-year-old son of Virginia and Burt (Garrett Dilahunt), hooks up with a pretty woman and gets her pregnant. And then learns she’s a serial killer, who winds up in prison en route to the electric chair. So his one-night-stand makes him a single parent to a sweet little girl named Hope, who is raised by Jimmy and his wacky family, who includes his senile grandmother, Maw Maw (Leachman), who owns the house; Jimmy’s parents, of course; and Sabrina (Shannon Woodword), the girl next door and the love of Jimmy’s life. And, because it’s a sitcom, hijinks ensue, but these are of a particular sort not seen in most sitcoms, because these involve economic culture clashes between poor and rich.
Virginia works as a housekeeper, Burt as a pool-cleaner, and Jimmy as a bag boy and shelf-stocker. They live in Maw Maw’s house because they can’t afford anything else, and the center of every episode is some challenge or conflict engendered by their poverty. They have no health insurance, can’t afford a new toilet. Forget taking vacations, these are people who can barely afford to order a pizza. They wear worn-out clothes, and the word “amenities” isn’t even in their vocabulary.
The series doesn't explore the roots of their poverty, or does it rationalize — or romanticize — this family’s devastating predicament. But some episodes take on systemic injustice, and raise questions about the values we attribute to the struggle in surprising ways. In the third season, the crew take on Occupy Wall Street. When the Chance family tries to understand the uprising, Virginia says, “Not sure what it is, but it means it’s not our fault we are poor.” The episode explores the power imbalance between rich and poor, and concludes with an inspirational note of how to wrest back power from this imbalance. It’s slight, nothing earth-shattering, but it’s playful and insightful as to the power dynamics of wealth.
If only it would attract more viewers. I think this one hits a little too close to the bone. It’s not, shall we say, porn-y enough, no smartass kid in the vein of a Honey Boo Boo. It’s just straight up unflinching, and you know the Chance family isn’t going to suddenly hit pay dirt and move on up. And it’s too bad, too, because Raising Hope is such a delightful and important show that missing out on it often feels criminal. Americans love to revel in the myth that our nation continues to prosper even as the chasm between rich and poor widens. Raising Hope, and shows like it, wouldn’t just force us to look upon the families who live different lives, but to confront the actual poverty and economic struggles in our lives. In an era in which we all face the threat of penury, not knowing how stable our jobs are, or even if we can pay our ever-increasing rent, whether you feel ashamed or embarrassed, a sitcom as brave and droll as Raising Hope offers an unwavering glimpse into the life of a family — fictional though it may be — that allows us to laugh along with them.
