But even before the formal introductions begin, Lucille and Lindsay’s first interaction marks the show’s first instance of sneaking in a line that initially plays as a throwaway gag, but later has an unexpected pay-off (and, in the process, recontextualises itself as a different joke altogether). Some are quick and punchy, like Gob’s, and others are gloriously weird, like Buster’s. With such a large cast to establish, the show’s breakneck pacing is present right from the first few moments, reducing everyone’s introduction to a line or two that almost fully embodies their character’s personalities. Its first episode, however, can proudly boast that it’s one of the few great comedy pilots – even if it’s still considerably different from the majority of Arrested Development’s run.Īrrested Development’s pilot begins with an in medias res cold opening that introduces us to five of the nine main characters in a mere two minutes (and 15 seconds, if we’re being precise). Season 1 is also considerably more subtle and grounded than the subsequent seasons, which I suppose is just part of the show’s natural evolution (the same can be said of many tv comedies, really). The Simpsons may have pioneered the concept of the “freeze frame gag” (a visual joke that’s on screen so briefly, it often requires pausing for one to even notice), but Arrested Development turned it into a different beast altogether. The writers probably made the right call there, as it saves them from having to address a whole bunch of logistical issues – such as why cameras would be allowed in the prison – instead opting for the use of a narrator and regular cutaways, employing anything from security camera footage to newspaper/yearbook clippings, packing in as many jokes as possible in the process. But Arrested Development applies the mockumentary format in a way that’s entirely different to the contemporaries it would later acquire, avoiding talking heads and almost never acknowledging the camera. One could say that makes season 1 a little bit more accessible in comparison, though even in the earliest stages of its run, the show never adheres to convention – at least not without putting its own spin on it first.Īrrested Development is technically a mockumentary, coming not too long after the original British version of The Office, which popularized the genre like no other series before. Since Arrested Development has a reputation for its running gags and callbacks, it’d be unrealistic to expect the show to be operating at full potential in its earliest episodes – and indeed, this element of the show doesn’t truly gain prominence until season 2. Few examples of great comedy pilots come to mind, and even then, they often don’t wind up resembling what a show eventually becomes. It’s a genre that lives and dies on the chemistry of the cast, yet this is usually the first time they’ve worked together, and the writers haven’t yet familiarized themselves with the performers’ comedic rhythms. DECONSTRUCTIONĪ high quality pilot is a tricky feat for any tv show to pull off, and this perhaps applies even more so for ensemble comedies. Readers who have not seen the series in its entirety are advised to proceed at their own discretion. NOTE: Deconstructing Arrested Development openly discusses spoilers when relevant (which can include episodes that come later in the series). is placed under arrest, and the Bluth family realizes they may actually need each other after all.” But everyone’s plans are halted when when George Sr. As Michael decides to sever ties with his family, his son George Michael reconnects with them. Portia de Rossi does a brilliant job with Lindsay, making the character's blinding ignorance seem hysterical and believable.“The Bluths gather aboard a boat for George Sr’s retirement party, where their lives are irrevocably changed. It all leads to a wonderful moment in which Lindsay discovers her identity and potential future: running for congress as a Republican. After finally leaving Tobias behind for pastures new, she finds herself romantically entangled with Herbert Love (Terry Crews), a politician who believes that Lindsay is a sex worker. Growing up wealthy hasn't done Lindsay many favors when it comes to living in the real world when the Bluth family starts to suffer. She's completely neglectful of her daughter, Maeby, and can't stand her husband though there's certainly a part of her that's undeniably drawn to him as she tries to stir up intimacy with Tobias - which is challenging (to say the least) thanks to his never-nude status. Lindsay, like pretty much everyone else in the Bluth family, is a spectacularly awful person, and that's what draws us to her.
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