by Ben Shapiro
THE COSBY SHOW (1984–1992): THE FIRST BLACK PRESIDENT
In essence, there’s no difference between The Dick Van Dyke Show and The Cosby Show, other than the color of the main character. But that’s quite a difference, according to the left—which is why The Cosby Show made it onto the air.
Marcy Carsey, who brought The Cosby Show to the air along with her partner, Tom Werner, grew up in Massachusetts, the daughter of moderate Eisenhower Republicans. She moved to New York to pursue a career in television and started off as a tour guide at NBC. When she moved to Los Angeles with her husband (who wrote for Laugh-In), she got a low-level position at ABC, then began moving up the ranks. As one of the only women in the executive arena at the time, she remembers the kindness of Michael Eisner, who hired her despite the fact that she was three months pregnant.
She left ABC and started her own production company with Werner, and for the first few years, they had difficulty keeping a show on the air. Then, in 1984, they “talked Bill Cosby into doing a series.” What appealed to Carsey? “His message was so powerful for the time. You don’t think of Bill Cosby as having a revolutionary message, but he really did. . . . He was talking about the parents taking back the household from the kids. And he was talking about men and women and how they are together and how they live together.” Carsey didn’t see these messages as conservative, of course—that would have been taboo. But the messages were conservative nonetheless.
Of course, he was also black. Cosby was iconic—he had been the first black television star in I Spy. “We were very aware of that. One of the first discussions we had with Bill . . . we had to talk him into doing a half-hour comedy. . . . And he said OK, if he was going to do a half hour, he wanted to be under the gun with not enough money, with too many kids. . . . I just kept saying to him, ‘You can’t do that. You can’t do that.’ . . . You’ve got to be the first guy to do a comedy about black Americans that has nothing to do with poverty, with drugs, with problems like that. . . . We absolutely knew how important it was that that be the case.”86
The Cosby Show was, in many ways, a conservative show. In the show’s pilot episodes, Brandon Tartikoff recalled in his autobiography, Dr. Cliff Huxtable (Cosby) has a chat with his son, Theo (Malcolm-Jamal Warner), about Theo’s report card. After Cliff reams him and asks whether he thinks he can get into college with such terrible grades, Theo reveals that he’s not going to college. “Then Theo ends his little I-gotta-be-me speech by asking Cliff why a father can’t accept and love his son simply for what he is,” remembered Tartikoff. “The kid has stood his ground, and stated his position well. Everyone at the taping applauded wildly. Your standard sitcom would have stopped dead right there to bask in the audience reaction. Instead, after one or two beats, Cosby speaks up. He tells Theo that he’s never heard anything so stupid—that being afraid to try is about the dumbest possible approach to life. His boy, Cliff says, is going to try. Why? Because I am your father and I say so, that’s why. The audience, having already applauded, could only cheer even louder. The cast, crew, and executives knew instantly that they had created something that worked. A Magic Moment. And—lest we forget—a 48 share in the overnights.”87 Not quite the hippie-dippy liberal message of the 1960s.
But The Cosby Show wasn’t simply a conservative take on family life. The Huxtable conservatism was deliberately infused into a black family in order to combat stereotypes about the black community more broadly. That was purposeful. Harvard psychiatry professor Dr. Alvin Poussaint redlined scripts for the show, recognizing that “TV shapes the perception of Black kids who watch these shows . . . [it shapes the] perception of White children who might think that all Black children are comedians who conform to racial stereotypes.”88
Because the main character was black—and because he was an obstetrician and his wife a lawyer—it provided a certain happy thinking at odds with reality. “Of course, once the show made its debut, many people thought we overdid it—that the Huxtables had much too lush a life,” Brandon Tartikoff admitted. “I understand the logic, but I don’t agree with it at all. I think The Cosby Show made people feel good. And I believe the show worked because it was more realistic than most other sitcoms. . . .”89 Tartikoff’s right when it comes to the warm and fuzzy feeling generated by Cosby. He’s wrong when he says the show is realistic.
The Cosby Show can be taken one of two ways. First, it can be construed as a wholly conservative show, a show focused on inherent equality of the races, the opportunities America provides, and the benefits of a solid family structure. Second, it can be taken as liberal happyspeak ignoring the basic problems in the black community (single motherhood, lack of education, low income, etc.). In this second view, middle-class blacks often face a problem similar to that of the 1960s radicals cum 1980s yuppies; they struggle with status anxiety, the feeling that they are losing their roots by buying into the system. The Cosby family wears nice sweaters, lives in a comfortable home—and demonstrates no conflict whatsoever on this point.
The more realistic Cosby family would look like the Obamas: highly educated, affluent, successful products of an affirmative action project who are clearly haunted by racial anxieties and fears that they have forsaken their roots in pursuit of power and prestige. We thought the Obamas were the Cosbys—that they were black Americans who had climbed the ladder to success rung-by-rung, and that they were silently grateful to be part of a system that made that success possible. We forgot that the Cosby family isn’t real. In fact, when Bill Cosby came out much later and stated that the black community needed to emphasize education and self-respect, crack down on crime, and set up new social standards promoting achievement, liberals raked him over the coals. Cosby, said Georgetown University sociology professor and race-baiter Michael Eric Dyson, had “betray[ed] classist, elitist viewpoints rooted in generational warfare,” was “ill-informed on the critical and complex issues that shape people’s lives,” and had “reinforce[d] suspicions about black humanity.” Cosby, Dyson continued, “has famously demurred in his duties as a racial representative . . . flatly refused over the years to deal with blackness and color in his comedy.” Dyson labeled Cosby a “racial avoider.”90
In truth, what drew Americans to the show was the Cosby view of the family, the papered-over conservatism of the show. Americans loved The Cosby Show for the same reason they would later love Everybody Loves Raymond—the American people are rarely presented with a traditional family embodying conservative entrepreneurial values. That’s why the show ran for eight seasons and was number one for six of those eight seasons. Carsey acknowledged that: “If you get to where their gut is, and where their heart is, then you are a hit show.”91
Conservatism can be a hit—even when liberals don’t know they’re making conservative programming.
ROSEANNE (1988–1997): RED STATE LIBERALISM
Carsey’s commercial success is no doubt related to the fact that unlike many liberals in Hollywood, she understands the conservative position. “You know, I’m of a liberal bent, so obviously that’s going to come out of the shows that I was involved with,” she told me. “I was raised in a moderate Republican, Eisenhower Republican family. I’m very much a Democrat, but I understand people that have that kind of a bent.”92 It is a rarity in Hollywood for anyone even to admit that they have conservative friends.
But that doesn’t mean that Carsey doesn’t embrace her liberalism in her programming. If The Cosby Show was about what it was like to handle a family, Roseanne, one of the biggest hits on television from its premiere in 1988 to 1997 (it was in the top ten seven times during that span, and in the top five for six seasons), was about what it was like to be a working woman.
“When we did Roseanne,” Carsey stated, “the intent was to do a show about the millions, the 85 percent of households out there where the woman had to work, not an upper-class or upper-middle-class choice to work, but where the woman has to work. . . .
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This woman should be undereducated, should be not wealthy, should be natively smart. . . . A working-class heroine to represent the difficult lives that so many millions of women were leading.”93
NBC rejected the initial concept—“She’s a fat woman nobody’s going to want to watch,” they said of Roseanne—so Carsey brought it to ABC. The chief backer of Roseanne at ABC was Brandon Stoddard. “God,” he marveled, “I’ll never forget this as long as I live. I showed the pilot to the affiliates, there were a thousand, and the wives. And I’m scared to death. I mean it was risky, really risky. It was against the grain. . . . I also needed a hit really bad. And I thought, this could be it. And I was standing in the back of the room there with 1,000 people. And the women are invited to watch it and the thing is playing and they’re laughing, laughing, laughing.
“And she makes a speech somewhere about ‘I’m a mom, but I’m supposed to be a lover, and I’m supposed to be a friend, and I’m supposed to take care of the teacher, and I’m handing out food tonight.’ . . . she does the confused, who-am-I role, which Roseanne did brilliantly, and there was audible reaction by the women in the audience. Audible! They were like, ‘Yeah.’ . . . And I went, ‘---- A, we’ve got a hit, man.’ . . . They completely got it . . . because we were real.”94
Roseanne’s brilliance lies in its appeal to working-class Americans. But the values of Roseanne are not the real values of the typical red-state working class. There’s copious vulgarity, of course. In one episode, Roseanne tells her daughter, Darlene, to use birth control, even though her daughter isn’t yet having sex; in another, Darlene admits to using pot, speed, and acid. One tagged segment to an episode in which Roseanne’s son has an erection has Roseanne laughing at the network censors, asking them which euphemisms for achieving an erection she can use: “What about pitching the trouser tent? Bootin’ up the hard drive? Charming the anaconda? Raising the drawbridge, popping a wheelie, standing up for democracy? Waving to your chin?”95
This wasn’t vulgarity for vulgarity’s sake, though. It was vulgarity for liberalism’s sake, as Roseanne made clear in its most famous episode, “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.” In that episode, Roseanne visited a lesbian bar with her friend Nancy, then was kissed by Nancy’s girlfriend, Sharon (Mariel Hemingway, who makes a living off this sort of stuff ). Frank Rich of the New York Times praised the episode as a step forward for gay rights. Roseanne didn’t stop there. In 1995, it hosted a gay wedding. In season seven, Roseanne considered an abortion, telling her young son, “No man has any right to tell any woman what she should do in a situation like this.” The combination of the blue-collar feel of the show and its down-the-line liberal messaging was terrifically effective.
The liberalism of the show evidenced itself in the relations of the family, too. Despite Roseanne’s blather about her role as a wife in the pilot episode, it is clear throughout the program that she wears the pants in the family—and that her husband’s pants keep falling off. John Goodman’s butt crack is prominently featured on this show, a subtle reminder that he is a nincompoop and that she is the heroine, setting a standard that would soon be surpassed by the liberalism of The Simpsons. Roseanne is a landmark show in terms of shaping the view of the father on television—even Family Ties and The Cosby Show and All in the Family promoted the notion that fathers were important, even if they were wrong. If John Goodman had disappeared from Roseanne overnight, few people would have noticed. He was merely a foil to show Roseanne’s strength.
Roseanne set new standards in terms of class warfare, too. Whereas previous shows had either ignored blue-collar workers altogether (Family Ties, The Cosby Show) or praised them as simple-minded folks who could be taught the virtues of liberalism (Cheers), or ripped them outright (All in the Family), Roseanne portrayed working-class people as innately liberal. Roseanne revolved around the self-flattering image of the Democratic Party as the working-class party. Roseanne is the kind of woman you’d expect to see at the Democratic National Convention as a delegate of the Service Employees International Union (or at least throwing eggs at Tea Party buses). Roseanne, along with The Simpsons, represented the last television gasp of the liberal FDR myth that working-class people are interested mainly in unionization and universal health care. Bill Clinton represented the Roseanne ethic gone presidential—the white-trash, trailer-park liberalism of Roseanne found its outlet in the Man from Hope. Soon, however, the myth would be washed away forever, both politically and on television; Roseanne’s liberalism would make way for the liberalism of Friends, and Bill’s down-home liberalism would make way for the liberalism of Hillary and the Obamas.
Later, Carsey would go on to helm liberal shows like Grace Under Fire and 3rd Rock from the Sun, as well as That ’70s Show. All of them promoted a certain social agenda—as Carsey said, they reflected her politics. But all of them also reflected her ability to craft mainstream characters with partisan perspectives.
THE SIMPSONS (1989–PRESENT): SUBURBIA SUCKS
He attended his first anti-war demonstration at age twelve. He became “fascinated by ideas about progressive education and put them to the test when it came time to go to college,” attending Evergreen State College in Olympia, Washington. The college had “no grades and no required courses.” Famous alums of Evergreen include Rachel Corrie, the radical pro-terrorist Palestinian sympathizer killed by standing in front of a bulldozer in the Gaza Strip trying to defend a terrorist-infested area; Michael Richards, better known as Kramer on Seinfeld; and porn star Noname Jane. The college recently became one of the first in the nation to install gender-neutral campus housing specifically designed for lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transsexual students.
After college, he migrated to Los Angeles, where “the counterculture was dead,” and began writing freelance pieces for the weird alternative universe of LA Weekly and the Los Angeles Reader. Then he created a comic strip called Life in Hell. Thirty years later, he is the most successful sitcom creator in television history.
His name is Matt Groening, and he’s as liberal as they come. And his show is The Simpsons.
Groening got into the business via producer Polly Platt, former wife of Peter Bogdanovich and art director of Terms of Endearment, who was a fan of Life in Hell. She just happened to be close with James L. Brooks (of Mary Tyler Moore and Room 222 fame). Brooks dug Groening’s cartoons, and soon he was using them on The Tracy Ullman Show on the nascent Fox network.
The Simpsons certainly reflects Groening’s continuing sense of rebellion so carefully cultivated in the alt-weekly world of Los Angeles. “Definitely, the struggles and the rebellion I experienced growing up are a main part of my creative output.” He sees himself as a counterculture hero who has infiltrated the mainstream. “My underground pals and I used to sit around and talk about sneaking into the media, trying to see how far we could push our ideas,” he told interviewer Robert Kubey.96
“I may be biting off more than I can chew,” Groening told Mother Jones, “but with The Simpsons . . . what I’m trying to do in the guise of light entertainment, if this is possible—is nudge people, jostle them a little, wake them up to some of the ways in which we’re being manipulated and exploited. And in my amusing little way I try to hit on some of the unspoken rules of our culture. . . .” Groening is the representative of pure vanguardism—he tries to shock Americans and he tries to use comedy as a spear to lampoon all manner of political enemies. Groening characterizes his political beliefs as progressive, and idolizes execrable cartoonist Ted Rall—the man who called fallen soldier Pat Tillman an “idiot” and a “sap.”
“The Simpsons’s message over and over again is that your moral authorities don’t always have your best interests in mind . . . I think that’s a great message for kids,” Groening laughed as he spoke to the far-left magazine. “I don’t understand why William Bennett has such a problem with us . . . right-wingers complain there’s no God and religion on TV. Not only do the Simpsons go to church every Sund
ay and pray, they actually speak to God from time to time. We show him, and God has five fingers. Unlike the Simpsons, who only have four.” Groening admits that he gets away with this sort of subversive messaging because his show is a cartoon. “Yes. Of course. We always hide behind ‘It’s just a cartoon!’ ”97 It’s no wonder that in 1992, then-President George H. W. Bush stated, “We need a nation closer to the Waltons than the Simpsons. An America that rejects the incivility, the tide of incivility and the tide of intolerance.” In typically hilarious fashion, The Simpsons responded with Bart watching Bush’s speech on TV, then quipping, “We’re just like the Waltons. We’re praying for an end to the depression too.”98
Al Jean, executive producer of the show, admitted that the writers and producers “are of a liberal bent.” He felt, though, that the philosophy of the show is “probably nihilism.”99 The Simpsons does make fun of both sides (Lisa’s starry-eyed liberalism is often the butt of jokes—her moral crusades usually fall short due to the stupidity of the local population). But its prevailing sentiment, as Jean said, is nihilism. The nihilism of The Simpsons is based on the failure of liberalism’s aspirations—the war on poverty has failed, the war on drugs has failed, the war on homelessness has failed. When liberalism fails, it turns not to conservatism but to nihilism, the sense that all is useless and lost. Satire fits perfectly within this worldview—making fun of everything is easier than building anything up or backing specific provisions.
The Simpsons reserves its harshest criticisms for conservatives, however. The nihilists who create The Simpsons are not true nihilists—they’re liberal nihilists, only roused from their bleak stupor by the benighted hogwash of conservatism. Just look at Rev. Lovejoy, Ned Flanders, and Mr. Burns, Springfield’s resident conservatives, all of whom are portrayed as ignoramuses, killjoys, happy idiots, and/or evil. Lisa is vulnerable on The Simpsons because her starry-eyed schemes are doomed to failure, but she is in the main pure, good, and uncorrupted; Rev. Lovejoy and Ned Flanders are vulnerable because they are stupid, ignorant, and worthy of consistent mockery.