Dear Mr. Murphy,
My name is Sarah, and I am a Gleek. Or, at least, I want to be. You see, I was an avid supporter of Glee. I watched the pilot last year and fell in love, hard. And I watched every single episode you aired of Season 1. It was one of just a few appointment shows for me in a television season that was fairly disappointing. But I stuck by you. I bought the soundtracks, the episodes off iTunes. I have an autographed Glee poster on my wall. But, with the resumption of Season 1, I must admit: I’m worried about Glee.
I’m sure you’re a very smart man and a very talented writer and show runner. I’ve never seen your other show, Nip/Tuck, but I hear it’s great. And I really, really want Glee to work out for you. It’s a genius show concept, and it paves the way for people like me who are looking to write the one-hour pop-culture-based teen dramedies of the future. And for all intents and purposes, I represent your target demographic: young, female, easily manipulated by and highly aware of current music and pop culture, very passionate about and involved in the performing arts, obsessed with Broadway and modern theater. No one cheered louder than me when Kristin Chenoweth showed up in “The Rhodes Not Taken” last season. No one is more excited for the guest arcs of Neil Patrick Harris and Jonathan Groff. So, like I said before, I should consider myself a Gleek, but I’m temporarily ripping up my membership card. That said, here’s how you can win me back.
1. That dialogue. Good God is it bad. I suggest that you and your writers take a field trip to any high school ever, listen closely for about five minutes, and immediately rewrite all future scripts. One of the things I loved from the start about Glee was that the concept was firmly grounded in reality. When they sing, they know they are singing and they sing in real time reality. It’s not like a Broadway show where they speak and think out loud in song. I love that, as a twist on the idea that the song must directly advance the plot. But here’s a newsflash: real teenagers don’t talk or act the way yours do. Half of your show is grounded, like in the often superior scenes where the club is together singing in the classroom (“Bust a Move,” “Hate on Me,” and “Sweet Caroline” all come to mind). But you also seem to want to show an alternative, twisted reality where characters like Rachel and Sue Sylvester exist, and teenagers talk like they’re in a bad After School Special. I can’t buy into or emotionally connect to a show that doesn’t know if it’s real or not. Give us more episodes like “Wheels” and “Acafellas” that perfectly balance whimsy with heart, and I’m yours.
2. Take a chill pill. The first part of Season 1 was like a theater camp on speed – you flew through plotlines that take most other shows entire seasons. The idea that Sue was co-coaching New Directions was absolutely inspired, but I was thoroughly disappointed when it was over in the same episode. I can’t even imagine what shenanigans you could have dreamed up for the club had you kept her around even a few seconds longer. You have my attention. Your fan base isn’t going anywhere – I promise you, no one is going to stop watching Glee so they can catch up on Gossip Girl. Take your time, and do it right. Enjoy the ride as much as your fans want to.
3. Ease up on the sentimentality and amp up the weird. I almost hurt myself after the huge involuntary eye rolls I experienced after “True Colors” and “Imagine” sung by the deaf choir. Really? That’s not emotional or sentimental, that’s somewhere between cheesy and just plain embarrassing. My reaction to the end of “Wheels,” on the other hand, was somewhere between stunned silence and misty-eyed. Kurt coming out to his father got a similar reaction. That’s how you show heart, not with contrived song and dance numbers. Using songs to tell a story is certainly not a new idea and for the most part you use the motif well. It’s when it’s used as a crutch that we have a problem. You could, however, do with a little more weird. John Lloyd Young as a depressed, cough syrup-addicted shop teacher who cuts off his own thumb while high? Now that’s just plain weird, and that’s what makes me happy. More, please.
4. Reevaluate your future song choices, please. We’ve heard all along that Glee is a young show, with a young cast, for young fans. So what the hell are you doing raiding the Madonna song-book? It was all too transparently obvious that the only reason you included (the admittedly awesome) “4 Minutes” number in “The Power of Madonna” was because it’s the only Madonna song people my age know, besides maybe “Like A Virgin.” Don’t blame it on my upbringing – I was singing Duran Duran hits when I was five – but instead accept the fact that Madonna is not culturally relevant anymore. I keep going back to the pilot in my head, because it’s the best episode you’ve done so far, and making a mental checklist. “Rehab” by Amy Winehouse? Relevant. “Don’t Stop Believin’” by Journey? You can thank The Sopranos for bringing it back later. “Gold Digger” by Kanye West? “Take a Bow” by Rihanna? They all work. But there’s a reason an episode like “Ballad” kind of flopped – it’s not young, it feels forced, and you’re taking away my one reason to watch the show. There are no other shows out there for people like me – too old to consider sitting through “Gossip Girl,” too young to connect with shows like “Breaking Bad” and “Dexter.” Please don’t ruin this for me.
Well, that’s all for now, I guess. I haven’t given up hope on you yet. Just know that this does not excuse “Hairography,” because nothing you could ever do could ever make up for that 45 minutes of my life. I love pretty people making fools of themselves as much as the next person, but don’t waste my time. Just get back down to business, and I won’t stop believin’.
Sincerely,
sarah here
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