Forced friendships and the joy they bring

The old adage says, "You can choose your friends, but you can't choose your family," but that's only half true. And really, it's only a quarter true.

People do seem to "choose" their friends, but in reality, you don't so much choose who to be friends with as you choose who not to be friends with. The people who actually become and remain your friends, they were placed there not by your choice but by circumstance and ... well, fate. If I had my choice of friends, I would probably choose George Clooney, Peyton Manning and Tony Kornheiser. The problem is they wouldn't choose me.

So you tend to gravitate toward people who share similar interests and have similar tastes. But that is not really "choosing." And sometimes, those people do not become your closest friends. The ones that are closest are usually the ones that you wind up with because of forces out of your control.

I'm thinking of work ... or school ... or church. You can be placed in an environment, and because others are placed there as well, your social antennae operate to help you survive. And because those people are doing the same thing, there is a bonding that can occur that is greater than, "You like sandwiches? I like sandwiches, too!"

I've thought on more than one occasion why white supremacists seem so unhappy.  (Actually, that's not true at all, but go with me) It's probably because they seem to be in total control of choosing their friends, basing it on one deciding factor. One of the joys in life is to have a bonding experience with someone who you would never have had the chance to because of disparate backgrounds, different life choices, different skin color. Of course there is a natural segregation at times, but part of being alive is discovering friends that you may never have noticed before. They can turn into your soul mates.

That seems to be the basis for what I consider without a hint of sarcasm to be the best show currently on television. "Community" is the most deceptively brilliant 30-minute program in years because it seems to be silly, light-hearted and shallow. Sometimes the best comedies are all three. But I think it is much more than merely funny, and its return after three months of forced hiatus is a little like reconnecting with a long, lost friend.

"Community" has a standard premise that has always worked for comedies: Create a scenario that places individuals in an environment and have them react to certain situations. Hopefully, hilarity will ensue. We have seen it in coffee shops ("Friends"), bars ("Cheers"), the office ("The Office") and that classic comedy minefield ... an actual minefield ("M*A*S*H"). "Community" does this in a community college, which is actually very important. This is not one of those fancy schmancy real colleges. This is one of those tuna net colleges that catch those of us who may have swam away from better opportunities in life. It also gives the show the grounds to cast a variety of people with different ages and ethnic backgrounds, forcing them into a situation that they would never be otherwise. Let's remember this about "Community." These people became friends only because they all took Spanish at the same time.

A quick primer: leading the ensemble is Jeff, a lawyer who faked his degree and has been disbarred. He had chosen his old friends through a series of manipulations, and that deception has landed him at Greendale Community College, second only to City Community College in terms of the two community colleges in the area. Further deception while at school has forced him into a Spanish study group. His circle of friends has now become thrust on him, and he has no control over it.

Of course, to be a comedy, there must be an acceptance of contrived encounters, and that has become the study group. There is a middle aged African-American mother of two (Shirley), a young, study-obsessed and inappropriately hot jewish girl (Annie), a former quarterback, also African-American (Troy), an older white male titan of industry (Pierce), a middle-eastern,  movie-obsessed geek (Abed) and the initial object of Jeff's affections, the blond feminist (Britta). Of course those broad brushes needed to be painted at the beginning of the show in order to get it on the air, and it may be why I initially gave it a pass. It seemed a little too cookie cutter. How else would you get these people in the same spot than to show their differences each week? The same question could be asked about why the erudite Frasier and Lillith Crane spent so many nights in a dungeon bar in Boston. Because it serves the plot, silly!

But once the "Community" creators were able to spread their wings a bit, what emerged was poignant without being sappy (I'm looking at you, "Friends"), clever without being snarky ("Always Sunny in Philadelphia"), absurdist without being unbelievable ("30 Rock"). It was, and is, a perfect show. Now after more than 50 episodes, Troy has been able to shake off his jock exterior and reveal the 10-year old that doesn't want to grow up yet. Abed reveals that his Rain Man shell covers an ability to see the true nature of his friends. Britta wants to be tough, but she clings to her new companions like a blanket. Annie is blossoming and maturing physically and mentally, much to Jeff's bewildered delight, Shirley is finally seen as a fully formed Christian on television (not what Kirk Cameron wants us to be), and Pierce remains a bitter old prick, but with shades of kindness and depth. His journey from hanger on to outcast in the second season was particularly touching.

Within the bubble that is Greendale, most anything can happen: campus-wide blanket forts, a school flag that resembles a butt and most memorably, a paintball war that engulfs the school in a wave of rainbow colors while testing alliances throughout the college two years in a row. Could any of these things ever truly happen? Of course not, but once a trust has been established between those making the show and those watching it, nearly anything will be accepted.

The show rewards its fans by not treating them like idiots. It remembers every nuance from the opening shot and expounds on that minutes, episodes and seasons later. Remember when "Happy Days" was about a Milwaukee family with three kids? Richie Cunningham had an older brother who was written out of the show after season one and never mentioned again. Didn't that strike anyone as odd? How about the fact that the show was supposed to take place in the early 1960s, and the show allowed their stars to maintain 1970s hairdos? Even Howard Cunningham had Foster Brooks glasses toward the end of the run.

By contrast, "Community" respects its history by keeping a diligent ear toward what it has said before. Maybe its stable of writers has been upset by shows of the past. Maybe they are just as nerdy as the rest of us who watch it. There are catchphrases within cathphrases. There are instances where the background is more interesting than the main action (Abed actually delivers a baby and counsels the young couple in the blurred edges of one episode, and I watched it three times before I caught it). There is a "Beetlejuice" gag that took three seasons to complete. Now if that's not respect for intense viewing, then I don't know what is.

Like all great shows, "Community" has developed a secondary cast of characters who have become fan favorites in their own right. Magnitude, Leonard, Fat Neil, Professor Duncan, Starburns, and most importantly Senor Chang and Dean Pelton have created a show filled with familiar faces that make us smile every time we see them "Pop POP" up again. Much like ancillary characters in "The Simpsons" or "Seinfeld," these side players provide a world outside the study group, and it shows that the writers are paying attention once again since, much like our own college experiences, we would see the same faces year after year without being very close to them.

I haven't even mentioned the style, which pays homage to nearly every major movie and television show, including "Goodfellas," "Star Wars," "The Good, The Bad And The Ugly," "The Right Stuff," and most ingeniously, a mash-up of "Pulp Fiction" and "My Dinner With Andre." To try and explain it would be a disservice to their brilliance. They did "Glee" better than "Glee" (which really isn't saying much these days. That show, which used to be good, has delved into some of the most horribly written pap I've ever seen. It's the anti-"Community"). I am almost done writing this, and I am still embarrassed that I haven't conveyed how smartly written each episode is, how layered, how dense and how sincere. And maybe that's why it has a small number of devoted followers. When comparing it to something popular like "Friends," it earns its heart points rather than bludgeoning us over the head with the perils of Ross and Rachel and Chandler and Monica. (Don't get me wrong. I still have a soft place in my heart for "Friends." But it does seem a little fake when placed next to something with more substance.)

Then there are the friendships. I have said that your friends aren't always chosen, and that is certainly the case here. None of these people would have ever wound up together by choice, certainly not Troy and Abed, who have created the single greatest bromance since Bert and Ernie. Images of them doing a fake morning show or attempting random world records call to mind the silly things we would do with our best friends, especially when time and responsibility weren't constraints.

                                             

Britta, the atheist, and Shirley, the Christian, are able to coexist and even bond when picking up a hitch hiker. Each of these people must have had friends before, maybe ones they chose, but sometimes by being forced to deal with what makes you different, you can create a stronger bond than if you like someone because they are into the Grateful Dead, too.

I have seen that in my own life. My closest friends are not exactly the ones that I selected. They are the ones that were placed in my path at some of the toughest times in my life. Maybe that is why they are my closest friends. I found the woman of my dreams because I was fired at a previous job and wound up at a desk next to her. I thought that it was fate that led me there, but I ruined that relationship, and that has sent me down another path which may very well place me next to the closest friend I will ever have. That bums me out a bit, that negative actions from my past would be the only way I could achieve happiness in the future. It's certainly not scientific, but it is hard to get through the days knowing that.

I'm a little like Jeff (except for the low body fat and perfectly coiffed hair). I'm cynical, I have been deceptive in the past, and it has led me to a place where I have to accept what is around me. If I do that, I could see that the friends placed in my path are the ones I deserve to have. And if I ever feel lonely, I have my friends at "Community." It is one of those rare shows that can be sharp and witty and still leave you warm inside. It doesn't sacrifice hipness for heart. I only hope I can say that about the friends I continue to make.

And in the end, that's pretty cool. Cool, cool, cool.