100 Favorite Shows: #30 — Friends
“I’m not great at advice. Can I interest you in a sarcastic comment?”
In 1993, NBC president Warren Littlefield was looking to appeal to a younger demographic after the failure of the spin-off of The Golden Girls, The Golden Palace. At the same time, David Crane and Marta Kauffman were workshopping a sitcom pitch about “six people in their 20s making their way in Manhattan.” The routes both were on collided at NBC on September 22, 1994, which will go down in television history as the premiere date of Friends, one of the most successful pieces of American media ever — television or otherwise. Over the course of ten seasons and 236 episodes, Friends held true to its premise. Crane and Kauffman partnered with a number of producers (Kevin S. Bright, most prominently) to tell the stories of their central group’s ongoing comedic hangouts. Rachel Green (Jennifer Aniston), Monica Geller (Courteney Cox), Phoebe Buffay (Lisa Kudrow), Joey Tribbiani (Matt LeBlanc), Chandler Bing (Matthew Perry), and Ross Geller (David Schwimmer) comprised the core group of six who proved that the capture of lightning was not limited to just one bottle.
(So no one told you there’d be spoilers for Friends in this essay. Well, I’m telling you now.)
Much has been said over the years about how Friends struggled out of the gate because of its “lack of star power.” Yes, the culture’s relationship with these six actors was mostly limited to a Bruce Springsteen video, but I struggle to believe this. Granted, I don’t think anyone expected the series to eventually prove to be a billion-dollar juggernaut in perpetuity, but I also doubt that anyone saw it as a boondoggle in the same way that Cheers or Seinfeld was at first. After all, the idea is a dynamite, elevator pitch-worthy one. The title was about as generic as they come (how could Friends fail? It’s just about friends! We all have friends!). I still believe the show has to be one of the most appealing to advertisers ever.
Friends was television about hot (citation needed), young, white people who hung out in their apartments and in the Central Perk coffee shop. For the target demographics of marketers, Friends was about as accessible as they come, changing the model for hangout comedies forever. Even the humor of Friends was palatable for mass audiences, in a way that the surprising The Larry Sanders Show or subversive Seinfeld weren’t at the time. Fortunately, the quip-a-minute humor (that would later be more prevalent in something like the Marvel Cinematic Universe, the non-Thrones television show of the 2010s!) was never pandering. On Friends, you could predict the jokes that were coming, but they were always immensely satisfying, thanks to the careful writing of Kauffman and Crane and the impeccable deliveries of the actors. (“Do we have any fruit?” Chandler asks when surrounded by fruit baskets from Joey’s sexually-satisfied fling. “What kind of scary-ass clowns came to your birthday party?” he asks Joey when they flip a coin to determine which baby (one dressed with a clown pattern, one with ducks) is Ben (Charles Thomas Allen and Cole Sprouse) and Joey declares heads because “ducks have heads.”)
At first, Friends seemed intent on replicating the Seinfeld brand of non-sequitur, observational humor. (Chandler’s pondering of why Donald Duck wraps a towel around his waist after showering stands out most prominently.) Over time, as it found its voice more strongly rooted in sardonicism and sarcasm, Friends’ identity was distinctly its own. The patterns and rhythms of the series were hardly replicable by the myriad imitators that came out of Friends’ wake.
The early days of Friends are still pretty solid, admittedly, even if each character dressed like their own wacky creation, but practically spoke like clones of one another. Before the formula was established, Friends went to great lengths to solidify the friendships among the core six, resulting in a stronger sense of why the audience should be rooting for these people who had to pretty frequently learn to not be so narcissistic all the time. (They’re downright wholesome by the end, which was a more effective lane for Friends.) One such example comes in “The One with the Baby on the Bus” from season two when Stephanie (Chrissie Hynde) pushes Phoebe’s guitar-playing to the street and Rachel is forced to make amends. Later stages of Friends would never have an extended sequence dedicated to a straight cover of “Angel of the Morning,” but it remains a slower, more pensive moment in the early annals of Friends that actually provides me with pangs of nostalgia whenever I hear Hynde hitting those notes.
Eventually, Friends would poke fun at its early growing pains (“Remember when I had a monkey?” Ross asks, unprompted at Central Perk. Yeah, Ross. Remember when you also had a son?) as much as it poked fun at its own formula (Joey hiring Carl (Louis Mandylor) as a fake Joey impersonator who says, “How are you doin’?” instead of “How you doin’?” is one such example. Joey also plays into the other’s conceptions of his own stupidity when he tells Monica and Chandler that he didn’t tell “them” about their relationship, meaning Phoebe and Rachel. Instead, he covers it up with, “Phoebe and… Joey.”). However, I have a soft spot for the bizarre nostalgia concocted by Friends, which probably never existed in Manhattan in the ways they depicted.
The intense outfits and hairstyles of the 1990s, the shrieks of joy when Brad Pitt turned up “The One with the Rumor,” the cut-scenes of the World Trade Center. They’re all products of a time gone by, emblematic of a culture that probably never existed because we saw someone like Ross Geller as being just as big a celebrity as Pitt. Yet, I still loved when characters would arrive at each other’s apartments to ask them a question and then leave ten seconds later. It’d be boring to have characters using phones and answering machines, sure, but I felt nostalgic for the amount of face-to-face interaction we used to have that, at the time, couldn’t be replaced by anything. (During times of quarantine, though, I’m grateful for new technologies.) Whether I watched episodes of Friends over and over again on TBS while growing up or on a couch in Australia late in the hours of the evening due to a jet-lagged inability to fall asleep, I was comforted by its encapsulation of an era I hardly remember (including four years I wasn’t even alive for).
It’s impressive how timeless Friends has become over the years. Jury’s still deliberating on whether or not Friends was a draw to Netflix in the way it’s been postured for HBO Max, but either way, the global public has been beyond invested in these six characters for the past two and a half decades. (So much so that the first public reunion of the actors was billed as a Mandalorian-esque flagship special for the entirety of HBO Max.) Not to mention, it helps that the NBC and Warner Brothers casting agencies struck gold in six different spots without a single fruitless hole. Apartments and coffee shops only get you so far; you have to care about the characters, too.
We rooted for Rachel, who tipped off the entire show by rushing into Central Perk wearing a wedding dress, to shed away her passiveness and become kinder and more goal-oriented because she showed genuine interest in bettering herself. We rooted for Joey — in spite of his vapid model persona — to find success in auditions (even if it’s hard to talk about noodle soup or to not creep out Timmy and his parents) because, at his core, he had a childlike purity of heart (Chandler reckons the child inside Joey can’t be removed without killing him) and the most amount of love for his friends. We rooted for the obsessively competitive and high-maintenance Monica (anyone who also only eats Tic Tacs in even numbers understands) to leave a voicemail for Richard (Tom Selleck) that came off as “breezy” as she intended.
We laughed along with Ross, doing whatever he could to terrorize Phoebe and Rachel in “The One with the Unagi” to prove that he was the only one in a state of Unagi. His pre-Dennis Reynolds abrasiveness was sometimes a bit much (like when he humiliated Rachel for not dressing fast enough in “The One Where No One’s Ready), but he was always mocked and derided for his defeatist persona. He counts “Mississippily” when standing for a spray tan, resulting in a flurry of jokes from Chandler. To acquire “Ugly Naked Guy’s” apartment, he sends a basket of mini muffins, which are out-muscled by even bigger gift snacks. (“Your work makes me sad,” Chandler pitifully remarks when Ross says the mini muffins were the instigator for his best day at work.) When his suitcase suffers a “major shampoo explosion,” Rachel realizes there’s no chance at sustaining a viable conversation with him.
For as unbearable as Ross might be in real life, though, Schwimmer’s performance is the best on the show and one of the best in the history of sitcoms. It’s a legit 100/100. His delivery of, “There’s twelve bucks I’ll never see again,” in reference to the mini muffins is the perfect sad sack line that Toby Flenderson and Ted Buckland would later emulate. But also, Schwimmer’s physicality is unmatched. He may “bruise like a peach,” but his screams (and confused point) throughout “The One with the Unagi” are testament to what Schwimmer was capable of at every turn on Friends.
We laughed along with Ross, but we could also nod in agreement with Phoebe. He’s completely in the wrong throughout the Unagi installment, which is why it’s satisfying, upon a rewatch, to hear Phoebe (whose potential dislike of Ross is a fun throughline in Friends) scream that he’s a freak. The most confident Friend, Phoebe’s humanistic intuition portrays her as a happy-go-lucky woman of the streets — perhaps the one who is the truest New Yorker (Phoebe almost resembles a young Lillian from Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt). Her sexuality is boundless, she learned French by a collection of dumpsters, and when she left a voicemail for Monica that said she was coming over, she was sure to mention that it’d be spooky if they listened to it after she’d already arrived.
And, of course, we laughed along with Chandler, too. Ostensibly positioned as the funniest Friend, Chandler always had a sarcastic joke loaded up in his arsenal. His dynamic with Joey (one of the best TV “bromances” ever crafted) is gleefully fun, especially when Chandler relinquishes his superiority sentiments in favor of goofing around with Joey like they’re kids. (This manifests in instances of locking each other in boxes and calling shotgun, but it’s best represented in the bottle episode, “The One Where No One’s Ready,” when they argue over who has claim to a comfy chair in Monica’s apartment. Joey takes the seat (and later the cushions), so Chandler takes Joey’s underwear. After being threatened for the opposite to happen to him in retaliation, Chandler asks, “What are you gonna, show me my clothes?,” only to see Joey return, wearing everything Chandler owns.) Their love is presented most palpably when they reluctantly leave their foosball-festooned apartment with a hug that doesn’t end the friendship, but ends a phase of it.
Beyond his sarcasm and loyalty, much of the humor around Chandler was derived from how he was “charming in a sexless kind of way.” As easily flustered as he was, Chandler was also comfortable with his own sensitive identity. He liked to record himself singing David Bowie and he enjoyed taking baths (even if gatherings of his friends and requests for Diet Coke showed that such decisions backfired), but he could also provide the best advice of anyone in the friend group — even with an aforementioned belief that he couldn’t.
Each performance was made more specific over time, but throughout all six actors shared the same ability that remains unmatched in terms of uniform greatness: their inflections. Say what you will about Friends, but each actor was incredible at delivering their lines. There are thousands of examples (the favorite of many is Ross’ “Pivot!”), but these are just a few that came to my mind immediately and while taking notes.
Chandler: “It’s small. It’s tiny. It’s petite. It’s wee.”
Ross: “It tastes like feet.”
Chandler: “It happened in London.”
Joey: “In London?!”
Ross: “What is with everyone today? It’s Thanksgiving! Not… Truth Day!”
Ross: “Monica and I have a grandmother who died. You both went to her funeral. Name that grandmother!”
Joey: “Nana?”
Chandler: “She has a real name.”
Joey: “Althea!”
Chandler: “Althea? What are you doing?”
Joey: “I took a shot.”
Chandler: “You’re shooting with Althea?”
Ross: “‘Althea’ is correct.”
Chandler: “Nice shooting!”
Monica: “I got it! How about, if we win, they have to get rid of the rooster?”
Rachel: “Ooh, that’s interesting.”
Joey: “Hey, no way, that rooster’s family!”
Rachel: “Throw in the duck, too!”
Joey: “What do you have against the duck?! He doesn’t make any noise!”
Rachel: “He gets the other one all riled up.”
If you know Friends, you can probably hear these lines in your head just by reading them. (Which is also good because I don’t reckon I’m allowed to show that many clips.) It’s a testament to how endearingly funny Friends was and how its legacy continues to be.
They were more than just funny characters, though. They also cared about one another and were especially invested in each other’s romantic lives (career often took a backseat on Friends). My favorite couple on the show was Chandler and Monica (I think Friends unlocked a key, longevity-inducing sweet spot when they joined those two together), but the major relationship was definitely Ross and Rachel. That pair received the most attention and tension, considering how the series spent its entire run flipping the character who was longing for the other.
In the beginning, Ross pined after Rachel, only to move onto a different relationship with Julie (Lauren Tom). This swapped the longing to Rachel, who suddenly wanted what she didn’t even know existed before “The One Where Rachel Finds Out.” Over the course of the show, they’d switch positions back and forth over the course of a drunken wedding, a child, and a rotation of living situations. (At times, even though their relationship was obviously endgame for the series, the notion of them getting back together was played for a joke, as in “The One Where Ross Got High.”)
Eventually, when the show attempted to spark new life in season ten by pairing Rachel with Joey (a misguided attempt, officially pitting Phoebe as the only character who didn’t date within the group. Fortunately, she at least had the delightful Mike (Paul Rudd)), Ross was shown to hardly be over his lifelong feelings for Rachel. “I’m fine,” he insisted in “The One Where Ross Is Fine,” alongside Charlie (Aisha Tyler) before drunkenly squealing for his “Fajitas!” after the oven dinged. Granted, the writers might as well have sent Joey’s characterization to Antarctica in the final season (I worry about his inability to parrot Phoebe’s French), but the not knowing what to do with his character ahead of his spin-off was just one reason why their pairing failed. It also positioned Ross more pathetically, which was a weakened decision when he was just a few installments away from reuniting romantically with Rachel.
Throughout, though, the characters always cared deeply for the relationships, inter-group or not. For example, Monica became a devout advocate of Ross and Rachel’s coupling at the end of season one, partially motivated by love for her brother. Even Joey wrestled with the idea of telling Ross that he was interested in Rachel.
Aside from the Joey-Rachel interlude, Friends always excelled at depicting affection among friends who were not interested in dating one another. Before Joey and Rachel paired up, she’d frequently hold onto his arm or rest a head on his shoulder platonically. Before Chandler and Monica hooked up, they would even sit on top of one another on the couch in Central Perk, not feeling the need to address any preconceptions the audience might have because they were comfortable with their relationships to one another.
That being said, I didn’t feel any loss of platonic affection when Chandler and Monica got together, simply because of how much fun it was to have their romantic saga play out over roughly a third of the series’ run time, from the end of season four to the end of season seven (its prime). The two were definitely cute together, even in the face of uncertainty (their quest to make homemade gifts together is mocked by Ross, who suggests, “Why don’t you make her one of your little jokes?”) and arguments (how endearing is it for Chandler to think that one argument would end his relationship with Monica, just because that’s how it’s always gone in the past for him?). When I think about they heyday of Friends, I think about Chandler and Monica dating.
And when I think about Chandler and Monica dating, I think about “The One Where Everybody Finds Out.” Throughout Friends, the writers were always deft at doling out big revelations and developments for the show in subtle, unannounced manners. For example, in “The One Where Rachel Finds Out,” Chandler casually lets it slip that Ross is in love with Rachel, hence the lavishly thoughtful gift he gave to her on her birthday. It’s a moment that receives no teasing or build-up. It just happens and Friends always expected to play catch up to the moment, typically with audience members’ mouths resembling the letter O.
The same is true in season five’s “The One Where Everybody Finds Out,” which came more than halfway through the arc, keeping Chandler and Monica a secret from the rest of the Friends, far longer than many other shows would dare. The look on Joey’s face when Monica asks about her eyelash curler’s whereabouts. The frightened reaction when Rachel picks up the phone and hears a conversation about laundry. They’re all great, but none compare to Phoebe witnessing Chandler and Monica having sex through the window of Ross’ apartment. Her screams are eventually drowned out by Rachel’s pleas to be quiet when Ross returns, eventually convinced to jump and squeal alongside the both of them (in yet another testament to Schwimmer’s brilliant physicality, which would be further emphasized by his enraged “Get off my sister!” in the episode’s end tag against Dr. Ledbetter (Michael Ensign), who previously ate Ross’ sandwich).
From here, the two sides of the group attempt to enact schemes against one another, refusing to let either in on the knowledge that Chandler and Monica are actually dating. At a certain point, it’s impossible to keep track of who knows what in the dynamic of messers and messees (“Couldn’t if I wanted to,” Joey (torn between the factions like Hermione in Goblet of Fire) laments when Phoebe and Rachel devise a plan to fool Chandler and warn Joey not to say anything). But what’s brilliant about the antics is not that they tease the idea of Chandler and Phoebe becoming intimate together. Instead, the incremental reveals of subtle understanding that Chandler and Monica are together also build to a milestone in their relationship. Chandler admits that he won’t sleep with Phoebe because he’s “in love with Monica.” Isn’t it more fun to build to such a moment in an unconventional manner through the entire friend group, rather than centering the story around only Monica and Chandler?
No show could pull off the tricky balance of silly comedic moments with major life events for twenty year olds becoming thirty year olds like Friends did. Even the show’s best episode, “The One with the Embryos,” is an example of that. After all, many might not even know that the installment — best known for its Jeopardy!-style quiz show among the friends — is actually named after the B-plot, in which Phoebe attempts to become pregnant with her brother Frank’s (Giovanni Ribisi, who is very sweet, even when exclaiming, “My sister’s gonna have my baby!”) baby with Alice (Debra Jo Rupp).
“The One with the Embryos” pits Chandler and Joey against Rachel and Monica to determine who knows the other duo better. The competition begins with naming everything in Monica’s grocery bag (including Scotch tape, which Joey and Chandler used up making silly faces) and culminates in Ross devising questions and lightning rounds (complete with an overbearing MC voice) to force a competition that puts the chick and the duck on the line with Monica’s apartment. (It’s also acknowledged to be purple in this episode, which was always delightful to me. You really do forget that it’s purple.)
The entire trivia sequence is an absolute feast for whoever runs the Friends Wiki. We learn so much about the group (except for Chandler’s job — not a transponster), from Michael Flatley scaring “the bejesus” out of Chandler to the TV Guide being addressed to Miss Chanandler Bong to Monica organizing her towels into eleven different categories. The episode, written by Jill Condon and Amy Toomin, also makes the right call by giving Joey and Chandler the victory. The audience erupts with cheers, perhaps not even realizing they were rooting for the boys over the girls. It’s just more fun to see the apartments get swapped for a couple episodes, rather than see the pet birds get the boot.
The trivia (and subsequent triumphant entrance by Joey and Chandler on their porcelain dog statue) makes up the bulk of the episode’s laughs, but it’s also anchored in Phoebe’s high-pressure quest to become the surrogate mother for Frank and Alice’s baby, especially since they only have one chance at it (it costs $16,000 or $25,400 in today’s money). Spending a day playing trivia about one another is hardly a life milestone for adults, but Phoebe’s eventual success is a step forward for at least one member of the group. Friends was expert at bringing both story elements forward at every turn.
Every character could act like an adult in one episode and act like a kid in another. Through pay-offs like a glass of fat that Ross has to drink as a way to apologize to Rachel or Monica using Phoebe’s sock bunny as a homemade gift for Chandler, Friends depicted the early twenties lifestyle of learning how to progress into maturer ways of handling problematic situations while still making sure to have fun along the way.
And, boy, did they have fun. It’s already ludicrous enough to think that a chef, a barista, a masseuse, a paleontologist, an actor, and a vague businessman/transponster could afford such lavish New York apartments (no matter how many times they throw out “rent control” as a reason), but it was even more implausible when the group would spend so many days not working, electing to hang out with one another instead. Yes, it’d be egregiously fun to live across the hall and street from your best friends, but you’d also never see them as frequently as these six do. They spend entire episodes playing catch or throwing napkins at a wall, reenacting Law & Order episodes or playing fake game shows like “Bamboozled.” They built forts, listened to Ross play the bagpipes, observed his “watching TV” prank, dressed as an armadillo and as Superman, and (in the case of Joey) attempted to jump from the ledge when Rachel said goodbye.
But who cares how realistic it was? That all seems like a ton of fun. (Except for the ledge-jumping, of course.) Who wouldn’t want to navigate their twenties in turn-of-the-century Manhattan like that? Jobs that matter only sometimes, an endless stream of money, frequent interactions with your best friends. It’s a good deal! Friends was great escapism, in that regard.
Even the notion of them staying in Rachel’s bedroom for the entirety of “The One With the Morning After,” subsisting on Waxine, is implausible because, eventually, someone would have someplace to be, right? Instead, they stick their ears up against the door and listen in disbelief as Ross and Rachel’s relationship falls apart for the first time. At least a similar eavesdropping session (complete with a Houdini act, frizzed hair, and Miss Congeniality) based around Joey and Rachel in Barbados is more fun than the one in the apartment.
Fortunately, everything ended up okay for the group (and for Charlie, who probably won by getting away from them. They could be clique-y, as when a knock is heard at the door and Phoebe counts the six bodies in the room to see who it could possibly be), allowing them to remain on speaking terms with one another — even if the awkwardness of Ross and Rachel’s breakup never receives the amount of discomfort it probably would have in real life (that wouldn’t be escapism).
One of the best parts of the surrogate family formed by the Gellers, Bings, Tribbianis, Buffays, and Greens is that they get to spend Thanksgiving with one another every year. Sometimes, Brad Pitt turns up and sometimes, Monica puts a turkey on her head. Either way, Thanksgiving was the most fun holiday for Friends, in a way similar to Parks and Recreation doling out the best Valentine’s Day episodes and The Office pulling off some killer Christmas installments.
My personal favorite from the holiday arsenal is “The One Where Ross Got High.” The conceit of the episode revolves around the Geller parents, Jack (Elliott Gould in an exquisitely nerdy turn) and Judy (Christina Pickles), and their dislike of Chandler (because Ross blamed him for a marijuana smell in college), Phoebe’s infatuation with Jack and Jacques Cousteau, Joey’s desperation to go to a Thanksgiving meal with models, and Rachel’s attempt to prove herself worthy of baking a dessert for the meal. Eventually, these plot lines all explode and compound one another in a succession of excellent one-liners from the characters, spurned by Ross and Monica resorting to infantility and tattling on one another.
At first, it seems like a wholesome episode where the characters want what’s best for one another. Rachel puts beef and peas in the traditional English trifle, but Joey goes to great lengths to ensure no one makes fun of her (the blooper of the scene makes the actual scene even funnier). Ross seems intent to absolve Chandler of all distaste from the Geller parents (“If people don’t know, they shouldn’t just guess,” Chandler pleads when he is fed up with asking people why Jack and Judy hate him). A sibling rivalry gets the best of the family holiday, though, and hilarity unfolds (including a flawlessly shell-shocked look on Schwimmer’s face).
Monica: “Dad, you know that mailman you got fired? He didn’t steal your Playboys, Ross did.”
Ross: “Well, Hurricane Gloria didn’t break the porch swing, Monica did!”
Monica: “Ross hasn’t worked at the museum for a year.”
Ross: “Monica and Chandler are living together!”
Monica: “Ross married Rachel in Vegas, and got divorced — again!”
Phoebe: “I love Jacques Cousteau!”
Rachel: “I wasn’t supposed to put beef in the trifle!”
Joey: “I wanna go!”
Each of these lines is an example of the inflection zenith ever-present on Friends, but they’re also buoyed even further by Pickles’ expert take-down of each of the Friends. “That’s a lot of information to get in thirty seconds,” she remarks, massaging her temples. She continues,
“Joey, if you wanna leave, just leave. Rachel, no, you weren’t supposed to put beef in the trifle. It did not taste good. Phoebe, I’m sorry, but I think Jacques Cousteau is dead. Monica, why you felt you had to hide the fact that you’re in an important relationship is beyond me.”
By the end, Chandler is the only one the Geller parents seem able to trust, completely flipping the original stakes of the episode in classic Friends fashion. It just seemed so effortless.
Two years ago, movie theaters for Thanksgiving played this episode, along with others from the traditional holiday check-ins, on the big screen. At first, I was dismayed at how many people felt the need to be angry about this, almost intent on dismissing Friends as a lesser form of the sitcom. I prefer to just focus on the comedy legends and stars I look up to, who continue to celebrate the influence Friends had on them (from Seth Meyers to Michael Schur in the comedy realm to Emma Watson and Taylor Swift in the superstar realm to my own parents and some of my closest friends in the personal realm — the opinions I value most). Friends may be popular, but sometimes, things are popular for a reason. A title like Friends helps, along with episode titles that represented how people referred to their favorite installments from classic series. Unified mega-contract negotiations that emphasized not one of the six was the true lead helps, too (how else would it go on for a decade?). But ultimately, we all just saw what we always hoped to experience in our twenties, even if only for a day.
The idea of having a distinct friend group that goes through life together, finding a public spot with a couch they can call their “own,” experiencing the weddings, babies, and major life events that come from imposing friends as your family. This is a theme that’s prevalent on many series, but perhaps never as prominently featured as it was on Friends. When Chandler asks, “Where?” to Rachel’s suggestion of grabbing a cup of coffee in the final scene of the show, it’s a moment that resonates as a perfectly constructed and satisfying note for the series to go on. One syllable of sarcasm ended one of the biggest phenomenons in all of television and it was still immeasurably satisfying. What could have executed it as effortlessly as Friends did?
