TV Review: "Mid-Century Modern"

The new Hulu sitcom is a fitting showcase for the comedic talents of its main cast and offers viewers the deliciously old-fashioned pleasures of sitcoms of yore.

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Warning: Spoilers for the series follow.

I’m sure that all of you have been waiting impatiently for my thoughts on the new sitcom Mid-Century Modern, now airing all of its 10 episodes on Hulu. Created by Max Mutchnick and David Kohan–famous for their collaboration on the hit sitcom Will & Grace–it follows three gay men who move in together after one of their best friends dies. Bunny (Nathan Lane) invites his best friends Jerry (Matt Bomer) and Arthur (Nathan Lee Graham) to move into his house, in which he lives with his acerbic but loving mother, Sybil (Linda Lavin). During the course of the first season, the four wrangle with the growing pains of living together as well as the vicissitudes of aging.

As this setup makes clear, there’s more than a little of The Golden Girls in this show’s DNA, though it’s less notably and explicitly political than its 1980s/early 1990s predecessor. As with the original fab foursome, though, there’s quite a lot of sparkling dialogue and dazzling chemistry to go around. The four leads are sitcom archetypes, to be sure, but the actors are all quite talented and they know how to mine the material for both humor and pathos.

In other words,: I adored it. Yes, the comedy is broad, and yes, there are times when it trades in the types of gay stereotypes that may well make some viewers roll their eyes with impatience and sometimes outright contempt, but there’s also something comforting about its nostalgic approach to the sitcoms of yore. It’s the kind of show that you watch when you want something warm and comforting, and these are characters with whom you want to spend time.

Like all great sitcoms, Mid-Century Modern also knows how to balance the hilarious with the deeply poignant, and no episode illustrates this better than the penultimate episode, in which Linda Lavin’s Sybil dies unexpectedly, leaving both of her children (Pamela Adlon plays Bunny’s sister Mindy), Jerry, and Arthur to pick up the pieces and go on with their lives. Even though I knew this was coming–Lavin passed away due to lung cancer after most of the season was filmed–it still hit like a punch to the gut.

Now, I know it’s not surprising to learn that I cried at this episode, since I’m always on the verge of tears at the best of times. Still, there’s no question that this is the kind of sitcom episode in which the pathos is genuine and not simply manufactured to tug on your heartstrings. Anyone who has ever lost a loved one or a parent will find much in this episode that resonates with that experience, and I appreciated that the series didn’t go the easy route and have Sybil pass away between the first and (presumed) second season. In keeping with Lavin’s wishes, it plunges us and the characters headfirst into the deep waters of grief, and credit to Nathan Lane for giving a performance that is as potent as anything he’s ever done on the screen. While I expected to see his broad comedy chops on abundant display–and they certainly are, much to my delight–watching him grapple with the complicated emotion of grief, both immediately following Sybil’s death and afterward, is a master-class in sitcom performance.

Other episodes capture this balance, too, and I give a lot of credit to Matt Bomer for bringing a potent warmth to his characterization of Gerry. I honestly didn’t know whether he was going to be able to pull off this kind of sitcom role, given that so many of his most recent performances–particularly Fellow Travelers–have been hard-hitting and devastating dramas. He brings to his character some subtle nuances and shades of character to Jerry, making him much more than a himbo. In keeping with The Golden Girls, there are shades of both Rose and Blanche to him, with the innocence and naivete of the former and the sex appeal of the latter, and he even has his own form of wisdom. In one particularly potent episode, he starts to hook up with a hunky young man (played by Zane Phillips), only for the two of them to start talking about faith and the fact that they were both raised in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Their tryst ends with the two of them having a sweet and moving conversation about the Mormon faith, and how Phillips’ Mason wants to stay within it, even though doing so necessarily means putting aside his own desires and accepting that he’ll never remain fully comfortable in his body. It’s one of the sweetest moments in the entire first season, and it’s the moment when I began to realize this is truly a show I could come to love.

While I remain devastated that Lavin passed away before the series was finished, I loved getting to see her have the time of her life as Sybil. She’s the type of grand dame that you love to see in a sitcom like this one, with her leopard prints and her scathing remarks to her son. Lavin gives her all to the role, and she has remarkable chemistry with the rest of the cast, particularly Graham, and it’s a particular delight to see Sybil trading barbs with Arthur. They’re two bitches who just get each other, and you love to see it.

But let’s address the elephant in the room, shall we? I’ve seen a lot of commenters on social media take the show to task for trading in stereotypes, arguably the gravest of sins when it comes to queer popular culture. When I hear this argument, though, I can’t help but wonder: so what? The reason stereotypes exist is that, like it or not, they often have at least some basis in reality and, though some “straight-acting gays” (or queens who think they are) like to think that they are the cream of the crop when it comes to how to be gay, those of us who love inhabiting our stereotypical selves love seeing characters like Bunny, Jerry, and Arthur in all of their bitchy, saucy glory. And it’s not as if Mid-Century Modern–or Will & Grace, for that matter, which also trafficked in stereotypes–uses those stereotypes to bash or diminish gay folks. If anything, it’s the opposite.

Does Mid-Century Modern hit every note? No. I was particularly let down by the episode in which the three young men encounter a horrible and homophobic member of Congress, only to find out that she loves to part with the gays in her spare time. Jerry ends up being the voice of reconciliation and kindness–which is in keeping with his persona as a former Mormon–though Arthur gets the last laugh by blackmailing her into dropping her support for a particularly noxious bill. It all feels a bit slapdash, and I hope a second season is a bit more adept in engaging with actual political issues.

In other ways, though, the series is effectively (if subtly) political, in the sense that it’s willing to grapple with issues affecting queer folks that aren’t always addressed in either popular culture or the real world. Just as The Golden Girls drew our attention to the plight of women in their 60s and the way they were far too often excluded from mainstream culture, Mid-Century Modern demonstrates the extent to which queer life doesn’t end just because you enter middle-age and beyond. Whether it’s Sybil defending her right not to be ignored in her own home, the three male leads contending with grief and aging and memory, or Jerry reconnecting with his estranged daughter, Mid-Century Modern has its finger on the ways that for queer people the personal is always political.

Moreover, I do think that there’s something refreshing about just how old-fashioned Mid-Century Modern is. Don’t get me wrong. There are some fantastic sitcoms out there right now, and many of them are quite adept at being knowing and self-aware (I’m thinking in particular of Abbott Elementary, which is arguably the best sitcom on TV right now). However, this new show is the perfect fit for those who like their comedy the old-fashioned way. Sure, the three-camera setup–complete with studio audience–might feel a little dated by this point, I for one don’t see that as a drawback. If anything, it reminds us of an earlier period in American social and cultural history, one where shows like this were the norm, and one could expect that a substantial part of the viewing public had seen the same things.

Suffice it to say, I think that there’s much to love about this show. The comedy is a bit hit-or-miss sometimes, but I love the characters, archetypal as they are. Everyone gets their own chance to grow and change, even perpetually scathing Arthur, who finds his hard edges gradually saddened off as the season progresses. I truly do hope that this series gets the second season that it so richly deserves, and I also hope that those who dislike it give it another chance. It’s the kind of gay show that deserves to flourish, and I hope it gets the opportunity.