
How Glee reminded me it’s good to enjoy things
- Andrew Harmon
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- Andrew Harmon
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It’s the summer after my senior year of college. I’ve just graduated with a film degree and I’m totally lost and without direction. (This will become a pattern for the next decade of my life, but I don’t know this just yet.)
Instead of moving home to Colorado or running after a great job in Hollywood, I decide to move into an apartment with two other guys from my school. Not friends, just guys whose faces I generally recognize from campus. One of my new roommates keeps the liquor cabinet stocked and occasionally brings girls over. The other introduces me to Assassins Creed II and Red Dead Redemption. It’s less of a post-college purgatory and more of an easy-bake oven version of a frat house. We rarely are all there at the same time but when we are we usually play Rock Band.
Tonight is different though.
Tonight we’re are all huddled around a laptop screen watching a scene from the latest episode of a TV show that we’ve all pirated. (In our defense, it’s 2010 and Netflix was just starting to put on its big-boy pants.) “Play that scene again,” my roommate says. “Yeah. That was bomb,” I chime in. My buddy scrubs the QuickTime bubble back. Slaps the space bar and BAM—Darren Criss spins around ripping into a delightfully over-produced acapella cover of Katie Perry’s “Teenage Dream.”
There isn’t a drop of alcohol in the room and three 22 year-old heterosexual men are fully, unabashedly—and un-ironically—jamming out to GLEE.
A Look Back
Over the past month, I was feeling a little nostalgic and I decided to revisit the first season of the series. Like its name implies, Glee is a show that unapologetically celebrates joy. For those not familiar, this was a 1-hour musical dramedy from the now prolific showrunner Ryan Murphy about a high school show choir (or glee club) in central Ohio. The club is a mash of misfits—awkward geeks and theatre kids, football jocks and cheerleaders—and they all find an unlikely community together as they bond over their love of singing.
It’s a simple premise. Not one that you’d suspect would enrapture the attention of a couple of college guys, or for that matter the interest of a now 32 year-old me. The show rarely leaves the halls of the school building and, despite a healthy sampling of good old fashion high school drama throughout, the central stakes for the plot stay firmly fixed around whether the Glee club’s funding will be cut if they don’t win at Regionals. Based on this plot outline alone, this is a show for a very niche audience of very nerdy people.
But it wasn’t.
Glee was wildly popular. It ran for 6 seasons and 121 episodes, mounted 2 national summer concerts and regularly topped charts with iTunes sales. People loved this show!
And 11 years after the pilot first aired, I can still see why. Beyond the quirky writing and the flashy heightened-reality, the beating heart of the show was always the idea that we should stop being afraid of joy.

Is Joy So Unique?
In today’s television landscape joy isn’t exactly a currency that many showrunners are trading in. Network prime time has gone all-in on episodic procedurals of the N.C.I.S.V.U.S.I. variety. You know—the kind of show where you can tune in to any episode as a first time viewer and be just fine.
And while the case-of-the-week might be a nice division for a hour, each episode’s story is self contained by design; and the characters are rarely built with the depth to carry an audience to a truly joyous revelation.
Meanwhile, high-concept serials like Glee have migrated exclusively to premium cable or online streaming platforms. And in these environments, without the network’s family-focused restrictions, dark and gritty is king. Think of the most lauded shows of the last decade—shows like Mad Men, Breaking Bad, Game of Thrones, Handmaid’s Tale and House of Cards—each show astonishing in its own right. Fascinating and poignant tales of humanity to be sure. But brimming with radiance and joy—they are not.
Even amongst modern comedies, Glee seems a bit like a unicorn in regards to tone. Which is especially interesting, considering the era when Glee was first broadcast also played host to comedy juggernauts such as The Office and Parks and Recreation. Part of the winning formula for these other shows’ successes, is that the belly laughs almost always come at the characters’ expense. Each week, these brilliantly assembled “ensembles of fools” stumble their way through ludicrous situations, almost always of their own creation, and we get the pleasure of laughing at their mistakes and smiling as they try to fix what they broke.
Sincerity is King
In contrast, Glee defies you to laugh at its characters.
No matter how cheesy the moment is, if it makes the character happy, then by gosh it makes the audience happy, too. In the world of Glee—sincerity is king. There are no audience surrogates on screen to roll their eyes at the funky dance numbers. When the lovable quarterback decides to tell his girlfriend’s parents that he got their daughter pregnant by crooning 1974’s “Having My Baby,” at their dinner table, the camera doesn’t pan to Jim. No one gets to wink at you through the lens and tell you this is actually dumb.


Instead when the football team slays a perfectly choreographed Single Ladies dance during their game-winning touchdown play, the stands go wild. And while this particular situation is totally preposterous (not to mention the world’s worst missed call for an illegal formation), well, I dare you to not feel genuinely giddy for these kids, too. Every part of the show is asking you to be proud of them and to take part in the joy they get from singing and dancing.
To be clear, Glee doesn’t try to convince you that show choir actually is cool. When a very caucasian Matthew Morrison rips into a full-out karaoke version of “The Thong Song” in a wedding themed episode, you don’t walk away thinking, “I really misjudged The Thong Song. That’s a slap!” Instead you are painfully aware of just how goofy the song is. But you’re still smiling because the characters had such a great time performing it.
It was fun. Period. And that’s ok.
It's OK to Enjoy Things
Whether it’s musical theater, Dungeons and Dragons, or bagpipe music—in the real world there is a wealth of nerdy and uncool things that bring all of us joy. And it seems that Glee’s number one mission is to whisk us away from our inhibitions and to remind us that it’s ok to simply enjoy enjoying things.
Much of our media diet today seems afraid of genuine positive emotion. Authentic joy has been replaced on screen with a sort of cynical snugness. The fear of being seen as cheesy drives a lot of creators to value cleverness over openness and vulnerability when it comes to their characters’ desires. I’m not advocating that these other avenues are bad. After all, NBC’s ingenious and criminally underrated gem Community, was an entire series fashioned out of this cynical exploration of pop culture.

But sometimes—perhaps, say, in the middle of a worldwide pandemic—maybe it would do our souls a little good to take a quick break from the quips, and the winks, and the cleverness. Maybe it’s to time dust off an old favorite and give ourselves permission to simply love the things we love, without apologizing for their supposed silliness.