100 Favorite Shows: #71 — Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt
“I don’t like giving up on stuff. I still want Nickelodeon to take over my school.”
One of Netflix’s first original comedies (preceded only by Richie Rich), Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt came to the streaming service on March 6, 2015 and immediately captured the attention of all those who loved the sensibilities of creators Tina Fey and Robert Carlock. Centered around Kimmy Schmidt (Ellie Kemper), the series told the story of a woman who was forced to assimilate into society after spending a decade and a half underground as part of a doomsday cult that turned her into one of the Indiana Mole Women. The series ran for four Outstanding Comedy Series Emmy-nominated seasons, concluding its run in January 2019 before returning for an interactive film in May 2020.
(Final warning (and first warning): this essay contains spoilers for Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt.)
In Jeopardy!’s “Greatest of All-Time” tournament, there was one category that elevated the trivia game show beyond anything we’d seen before. To challenge the best of the best on Jeopardy!, a category was devised that required the contestants to solve math problems, turn them into Roman numerals, and then translate these results into names. I’m hardly even doing it justice. Just watch.
It’s not just that the category is one of the best Jeopardy! ever pulled off, but it’s that Ken Jennings, James Holzhauer, and Brad Rutter were pulling off solutions to them in seconds. It was a remarkable display of people gifted with a specific talent operating at the peak of their powers.
The equivalent of this in sitcoms is in the season two episode of Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, “Kimmy Meets a Drunk Lady!” when Titus (Tituss Burgess) debates what tapes will be stored in his and Kimmy’s apartment with the line, “It’s like Sophie’s Choice without Streep chewing the scenery like a rat on drywall.” It’s pulling off the same sort of Jeopardy! mold of putting a hat on a hat, but in this instance, it’s putting a simile on a simile, complete with film criticism jargon, a movie reference, New York symbolism, and an allusion to reverence for an acclaimed actor. It’s almost unfair that the writers on Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, led by Fey and Carlock, were able to pull a joke off like this with such ease. It’s too easy to take for granted how insanely layered the punchlines on 30 Rock and Kimmy Schmidt can be.
The jokes on Kimmy Schmidt were more borne out of character than the slapstick of 30 Rock’s humor was, but they were both just as plentiful. Impossibly, though, NBC passed on the former series, despite the pedigree behind it. A series based around Kemper, hot off The Office, and developed by Fey and Carlock, only a few years removed from the 30 Rock finale? It was ripe for the peacock network! And still, they passed, shipping out to Netflix as the streaming service’s first major comedy. It was partly an indication that NBC was ready to move away from their blocks of acclaimed comedy (which they have now gravitated back towards) and partly a sign that Netflix was keen to rope in every side of talent in Hollywood.
Kimmy Schmidt didn’t change much about itself on Netflix. It didn’t become needlessly vulgar or explicit, just because it could. Only the episode lengths seemed to be altered after season one, which was built for NBC and the network’s ad breaks. From then on, episode lengths varied and always exceeded the twenty-one and a half minutes that broadcast showrunners were used to. (It allowed for more jokes to be packed into an episode, but still sacrificed some of 30 Rock’s famed tightness.) But it still maintained the spirit of a Tina Fey comedy. Bouncy and slightly kooky (Kimmy owns a talking backpack and prefers purple pants to khaki or denim), Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt was a magnificent comedy for the mainstream that had steadily warmed to Fey and her brand of (white) feminism imbued through intricate, self-referential comedy.
The feminism on Kimmy Schmidt flowed through its protagonist differently than it did on 30 Rock. Liz was more of a jaded homebody than Kimmy, who was cheery and outgoing with everyone she encountered. Because of her captivity in an underground bunker for fifteen years, Kimmy was a bit sheltered and naïve to the harsh reality of the New York she’s thrust into. (Her behavior is often childlike. She uses the non-word, “tooken,” sincerely, takes expressions like “walk a day in my shoes” literally, and reframes “bitch” as a compliment because it can also mean “female dog.” As Xanthippe (Dylan Gelula) bemoans in “Kimmy’s in a Love Triangle!,” talking with Kimmy is “like talking to a chicken.”)
For all the bubbly optimism present in Kimmy’s daily persona, she’s still underscored by streaks of darkness that stem from the horrors (downplayed by the show’s storytellers) endured at the hand of Reverend Richard Wayne Gary Wayne (Jon Hamm). It’s a tenure that makes Kimmy freakishly strong (an element of her character that I frequently forgot and was always delighted to see return), but also fearful of Velcro (even though she never found anything else scary, not even gory Halloween decorations).
Ultimately, Kimmy decides to channel the abuse in her life into positivity for others. Not that she’s under any obligation to do so, but it’s often inspiring to see the lengths Kimmy goes to to help others, even in spite of the trauma she endured. As her therapist, Andrea (Fey), describes her, Kimmy is a “helper” and a “self-sacrificer.” Andrea understands how much of a pushover Kimmy is because she uses Kimmy’s inability to stand up for herself and address her needs to her own advantage (getting rides from Kimmy as an Uber driver). Kimmy is someone who chews her own haircuts, misunderstands what Andrea means by “Number two — the deuce!,” and thinks “frown” is a bad enough word to apologize for saying. Even though Andrea uses Kimmy’s personality for selfish purposes, it does result in Kimmy understanding that she needs therapy. It’s not enough to just force a smile and think happy thoughts. If it was, we wouldn’t have mental illnesses, traumas, anxieties, and depressions. A person can be cheerful for others and suffer immense doubt and passiveness on the inside; Kimmy Schmidt is an exercise in exactly that.
Kimmy is also fortunate to encounter many people who care about her in a massive city filled with people who have their own problems and tend to dismiss strangers. (This was another difference from 30 Rock, which could often seem like it was populated with people who’d let Liz Lemon die if it mean they could obtain a handshake from Buddy Valastro or Derek Jeter.) There was Lillian Kaushtupper (Carol Kane) — arguably the series’ most fun character — who fought against the “Internet people’s” growing gentrification and opioid crisis (by replacing cocaine with flour, in one brief instance). She accepted Kimmy instantly, as opposed to Jacqueline (Jane Krakowski), who took a bit longer to come around. Jacqueline had streaks of Jenna Maroney in her (she took great offense to Kimmy advising her to “listen to [her] gut”), but was more focused around challenging her own upscale privilege throughout the aforementioned identity crisis, which was far from successfully depicted.
There was also, of course, Kimmy Schmidt’s biggest breakout character (unless you count the catchy viral theme song), Titus Andromedon. As Kimmy’s melodramatic roommate, Titus became a brand onto himself. He liked to pose as a bougie figure in New York, but ultimately proved to be a sloppy hot mess who spoke in third person and harbored an affinity for “key lime wine.”
Titus seeks both fame (he auditions for a sequel to Entourage, a stage sequel to Spider-Man, “Spider-Man 2: Too Many Spidermen,” and Cats) and love (his best beau, Mikey (Mike Carlsen), is a delightful construction worker who even spends time at ConCon, a construction convention). Sometimes, these desires intersect (like when Titus finds rhythm in “Peeno Noir” or creates his own version of Beyoncé‘s Lemonade), but they are always obscenely delightful individually, too. Titus steals any scene he enters into, thanks to the rapidity of his dialogue and the animated performance from Burgess. But he’s also the rare sitcom main character who tends to be funnier on his own than he is playing off of others.
As Kimmy observes, Titus is like a “shiny chess piece,” who may be self-centered (“Kimmy, you did it all by myself!”), but is at least self-aware about it. He’s not necessarily driven to better his selfish behavior, but the effect of Kimmy in his life changes him for the better, regardless of whether or not he was conscious of it. On occasion, Titus can still come across as a low-maintenance slob (he uses a Fruit by the Foot to measure his tower of tape, but has ants in his pants because of a forgotten piece of “pocket taffy”), but his influence on Kimmy was always as important as hers on him. She makes him more open to others and more caring of other people’s needs. He teaches her how to best commit to independent living and knowing when to say no. Even though he doesn’t mean say no to him.
Over time, this personal growth in Kimmy allowed her to become more confident in her relationships. The early romance with Dong (Ki Hong Lee) was flawed from the beginning (and high school/GED romances never last). But the more Kimmy explores the wide world of men in New York, including my favorite, Perry (Daveed Diggs) in season three, the more she begins to understand what it is she wants out of a relationship, beyond just being loved and cared for.
This culminates in the 2020 interactive film (for lovers of great 21st century comedies, 2020 was a treasure trove of reunions and follow-ups, including Kimmy Schmidt, 30 Rock, The Office, Parks and Recreation, Psych, Happy Endings, and Community, among others), which sees Kimmy preparing betrothal to Prince Frederick (Daniel Radcliffe, a perfect match for the series’ sensibility). Their relationship is flawed, but they are able to communicate openly with one another, which isn’t something Kimmy had fully enjoyed before. (The “Free Bird” joke in Kimmy vs. the Reverend is also worth the entire interactive experience alone, but the heart of the film is between Kimmy and Frederick.)
Communication might be the biggest difference between Kimmy Schmidt and 30 Rock. When Tracy would speak with Liz, his main point would often be obfuscated. On Kimmy Schmidt, the characters are much more direct, perhaps because few of them are coming from a place of power or privilege. They represented a different side of New York with the same warped overall tone.
Throughout Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, the creators inserted a number of topics that were inherently fun to play with, in the name of this wacky tone. Story lines playing out with Robert Durst (Fred Armisen) or Marcia Clark (Fey) as main characters. Plots based around Christmas stores, Broadway shows, FBI investigations, and Universal Studios. Recognizably fun gags like a depiction of alternate reality, Sliding Doors-esque moments, or a cameo from TCM’s Robert Osborne. Because of Kimmy Schmidt’s heightened reality, we could spend time in these colorful, playful settings and enjoy seeing the characters reacting to them. Some are more inclined towards holiday shops than Webber musicals, but they embrace them all as ingredients to New York City’s mixed identity.
For Kimmy, she was a fish out of water in New York and in the world, as a whole. Her ability to navigate New York, largely free of danger, is akin to the behavior of leads in Being There and Our Idiot Brother. She beats up Billy Eichner when he approaches her during a fake “For a Dollar” segment and loses a carrot on the subway during a plan to make a Bugs Bunny joke. These acts might seem like they stem from an inexperienced New Yorker, but she’s actually the most extreme form of a resident. Most tend to act carelessly on the subway and callously to those who approach them on the street. Kimmy’s reactions just ratchet up the typical New York responses to a greater degree that matches the pseudo-cartoonish world she embodies. It may not be a recognizable version of the city (less so during a pandemic), but it is a loving tribute to it all the same.
In that version of the world, there is a CD entitled “Now That Sounds Like Music.” On the album, there are songs like “Hiking on Sunlight,” “Living’s a Toll Road,” and “I’m Convinced I Can Swim.” For most, these would be songs you discard on the street or eliminate from your iTunes library. For Kimmy, they’re the soundtrack to her day. Every day, she’s hiking on sunlight. And it’s sort of okay!
(There will be no new essay on Thursday or Friday. Happy New Year to all!)
