A young woman moving to New York City in the hopes of a bigger, better life is a familiar trope; Frank Sinatra croons in the background while she is disillusioned by the Big Apple’s grisly realities and her provincial past suddenly appears more enticing than ever.
This may have also been true for Kimmy Schmidt, if she hadn’t spent the last 15 years kidnapped in a bunker.
Welcome to Netflix’s latest sitcom, “The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, which stars Ellie Kemper (known for her role as Kelly Erin Hannon in “The Office”). The show opens with Schmidt and her three companions being liberated from a 15-year imprisonment. The foursome was kept captive by Reverend Richard Wayne Gary Wayne (Jon Hamm, “Mad Men”), an apocalyptic cult leader. After an interview with Matt Lauer and her fellow “Indiana Mole Women,” Schmidt opts for a life in New York City over her hometown of Durnsville.
The 29-year-old Schmidt embraces her independence with a middle school education and intense gusto, becoming roommates with the dramatic Titus Andromedon (Tituss Burgess, known as D’Fwan from “30 Rock”) and nanny for the “One Percent” family of Jacqueline Voorhees (Jane Krakowski, “30 Rock”).
Schmidt’s unbridled optimism and cheery disposition would edge on irritating if not for two factors: the humor associated with creator Tina Fey and Kemper’s performance.
The latter naturally leads to many comparisons to Fey’s last sitcom juggernaut, “30 Rock.” Her dry, clever and often surreal humor is obvious from the premise itself; a young girl escapes a decade-and-a-half of misery, then hustles through New York with an optimism only someone would have if, well, they had lived in a bunker for half their life.
The subsequent juxtaposition between Schmidt’s ignorance of modern zeitgeist and her “unbreakable” scrappiness is a perfectly balanced concoction. Kemper manages to convey endearing naiveté, determination and intelligence with humorous physicality and great delivery.
But if Kemper is “the straight man,” then it is appropriate for Burgess to be her comic opposite. Burgess’ Titus is unapologetically flamboyant. He is a washed up singer and Schmidt encourages him to pursue his dreams, a failed endeavor made even more hilarious by Burgess’ impressive Broadway background. His comedic timing is impeccable, providing quick quips while occasionally throwing in out-of-place theatrics. Perhaps even more importantly, Andromedon’s sexuality is more a personality trait than a punchline.
Burgess described this in a recent interview with Out Magazine.
“Well, it’s kind of the least of the things they play up,”Burgess said. “It’s more his entitlement, his delusional way of thinking, in terms of thinking he should be a star. It’s more about the random situations he finds himself in. … This is not Kimmy Has a Gay Best Friend. It’s Titus Full-Throttle 3-D. And his sexual orientation is not a thing.”
Rather, Andromedon’s race is the primary platform on which “Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt” launches its most biting social commentary. For example, in “Kimmy is Bad at Math!” Andromedon discovers he is treated better dressed as a werewolf than a black man.
But “Unbreakable” still struggles with race, particularly when compared to other hit sitcoms such as “Fresh off the Boat” and “Black-ish.” The most alarming subplot is that of Voorhees, a privileged housewife who is secretly Native American, despite being played by a very white Krakowski. It is revealed that Voorhees dyed her hair and put in blue contacts as a teenager to pass as “white.”
The plot-line is thinly veiled under commentary on white oppression of minority culture, but falls short of politically correct. It is difficult not to criticize Voorhees’ physical changes, nor the arguably offensive characterization of South Dakota reservations. While the plot arc is somewhat redeemed by the end of the season, it remains an unfortunate detour in judgement from “Unbreakable.”
A second misstep in racial depiction is Dong Nguyen (Ki Hong Lee, “The Stanford Prison Experiment”), a Vietnamese immigrant Kimmy meets in a General Educational Development (GED) class. While fulfilling a slew of stereotypes (good at math, poor at English, delivers Asian food, constantly sought by immigration police, etc.), Nguyen is also contrasted to Kimmy’s first love interest, Logan Beekman (Adam Campbell, “Hello Ladies: The Movie”). Beekman is an incredibly wealthy and educated heir from Connecticut who eventually battles Nguyen for Kimmy’s affection. Though depicted as ridiculous, Beekman appears to represent class and status as compared to Nguyen.
This lazy development is unfortunate, as Nguyen is otherwise an extremely charming character representing an atrociously overlooked demographic. And despite the show’s misgivings, it still addresses white ignorance of Asian culture. For instance, after laughing at Nguyen’s first name in “Kimmy Goes to School!” he is quick to inform Kimmy that her name in Vietnamese also means penis.
In addition to diversity, another issue with “Unbreakable” is the story-lines. While writers often spend first seasons cycling through fundamental narratives, the “Kimmy does a new thing while Titus tries to become a star” formula could quickly falter. Hopefully in the second season — the first of which was filmed for NBC before being sold to Netflix — will feature more cinematic originality and edgy content.
“Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt” is no “30 Rock,” but that is exactly why it is so great. In place of a cynical Liz Lemon is the “unbreakable” Kimmy Schmidt, a happy-go-lucky protagonist with everything to prove. Despite the sitcom’s faults, watching the world through her eyes is almost always a comedic delight.
