Psychology of Schitt’s Creek, Psychology, Psychology of Sitcoms, Psychoanalysis, Schitt’s Creek review, binge watching
The thinly veiled scatological double entendre of this
sitcom turned me off. So did the
characters as I dropped in on the Reluctant Wife watching it. I found them abrasive, full of themselves,
and generally unlovable. Of course these
are the characteristics of the characters at the heart of Seinfeld,
perhaps my favorite sitcom of all time, but these were more so – and the small
town setting seemed just a bit too campy – not unlike the mockumentaries that
the leads in the series, Eugene
Levy and Catherine
O’Hara, have played in. But the
Reluctant Wife stuck with watching it, and over time I was taken with it enough
that I starting watching it more and more in earnest. And, when she had finished the run, I
proposed that we start over from the beginning and she agreed. Sheltering
at home has been difficult, and having an absurd universe to visit was
quite pleasant – but, and this may sound strange, there was something happening
here that was novel and interesting.
Instead of the characters staying stuck throughout the course of the
series, they grew – and on re-watching, it was possible to track this.
The plot of this show is relatively straightforward. The Rose Family, headed by Johnny Rose (Eugene Levy), who made a
fortune with the Rose Video chain, and his wife Moira (O’Hara), a pretentious
former Soap Opera actress, lose their fortune when their unscrupulous but
trusted business manager absconds with their funds after failing to pay their
taxes. Their only remaining asset is a
town that Johnny bought as a gag gift for his son David (Dan Levy). Stripped
of their funds, Father, Mother, Son and Daughter Alexis (Annie Murphy)
retreat up Schitt’s Creek. “Ownership”
of the town entitles them, apparently, to two rooms in a rundown Motel from
which they have adventures every week. So,
rather than talk about the plot of the 80 shows in the series (good thing we
were able to binge watch when we were too brain dead to do anything else), I
will talk about the characters and how they developed across our months with
them. Each character had one (or more)
foil in the small town.
 |
| Roland and Johnny |
Johnny Rose is
the patriarch of the clan. Sincere, and,
like most of us who have some success, convinced that his success is due to his
hard work and integrity of character, he is indefatigably optimistic while
battling his sense of bewilderment that his world has crashed. Further, he has to face the ignominy of living
without the adulation of other self-made men and the creature comforts that his
success afforded him. It is also forcing
him to spend time with his children who, previously, were simply required
ornaments of a successful man’s life – tended to by nannies in a far-off wing
of the house while he loved them from afar.
Actually being in touch with them allows him to discover them – and his
capacities as a father.
He is mirrored by Roland
Schitt (Chris Elliot),
the blow hard mayor of Schitt’s Creek and, obviously, the titular namesake of
the town – one his grand or great grandparents founded it and Roland is, then,
as attached to the (very local) fame that his name has brought him as Johnny is
to the broader recognition of the Rose name.
Roland came up with the idea of selling the town as a kind of con to
bring income to a place that has no natural source of revenue. This is not spelled out in any way, but I
think that Roland honors his false promise by providing lodging (though neither
he, nor anyone else, seems to pay for it).
Thus he, like Johnny, is sincere and more or less honest, but unlike
Johnny, he has never seen his actions lead to anything of consequence and he is
incredibly lazy, relying on his wife (to be introduced in a moment) to carry
the day for him socially and at home while he mooches off of others in his “professional”
life.
In the first season, Roland and Johnny bond over the
vagaries of being parents to kids whom they do not understand – when Johnny
becomes drunk he acknowledges that having a son who is attracted to people of
all genders is confusing – despite his tangible support of that son and his
sexual identity. Despite their moments
of bonding, Johnny is disdainful of Roland.
The shift in their relationship, and the beginning of the shift in Johnny’s
character occurs at the end of season one when he gets caught in making
a lie to avoid having dinner with the Schitts and ends up having to share a
meal with them and a couple from his former life that they all end up at the “high
class” restaurant in the nearby town.
After watching Roland make gaffe after gaffe at the meal where the
guests are making fun of the rural ways and ridiculous local names, including
of course, Schitt’s creek, we are surprised to hear Johnny defend the Schitts
as true friends, unlike the high class mucky mucks who have never called after
his debacle but pretend comradery with him at this chance meeting.
Johnny’s shift into not just accepting, but embracing his
fate will, of course, ultimately become his paddle, but it also provides a keel
as the rest of the family begins their slow movement from disdain and
distancing to discovering their own path (to trample the metaphor) in, through and
around the town. Johnny takes to
managing the Motel, and, when he figures out that this is what he is to do, he
does it with gusto. And when Johnny
needs support at a critical moment in re-entering the entrepreneurial world, it
is Roland who provides it – and we see that Roland is
not just cowed by Johnny (which he would never acknowledge openly, though we
have known it all along as he has played at being the bigger man and failed),
but is both reverently related to him and every bit as deeply attached to
Johnny as Johnny is to him.
 |
| Jocelyn and Moira |
Moira Rose (O’Hara) is a force
of nature. She is so assured of herself
and her abilities – even though it is apparent to us and even to the people of
Schitt’s Creek, whom she assumes are stunned by her every move (and her endless
string of designer dresses combined with her wacky wigs is a consistent source
of fascination – how did she fit so much stuff in the trunks they were allowed
to pack up while the feds were stripping their place?) that she is, at best, a
B list actress with B list talent, credentials, and a history of way less than
impressive roles. What is impressive is
her vocabulary. Coming from a town very
much like Schitt’s creek, she has risen far above her station, even if that
involved considerable money through marriage and the pinnacle of her personal achievement
is in the very weird world of daytime television.
Moira’s foil is Jocelyn
Schitt (Jenn Robertson). Jocelyn is
as plain, simple and grounded as Moira is flighty and self-involved. Jocelyn is as deluded about some of her
husband’s attributes (e.g. his sexiness) as Moira is about herself. But both women are also able to realistically
appraise those same objects – Jocelyn feels the Schitt family traditions are
stupid, and Moira, for all of her self-involvement, is tolerable because she is
also acutely and accurately self-aware.
She knows that she has been a terrible mother – overinvolved with her
son and incredibly disconnected from her daughter – Moira has lived for
whatever glory she can get as Johnny Rose’s wife and a B list
actress/celebrity. And as grating as her
self-involvement is (mirrored in a reversed image by the sometimes sickly sweet
and cloying kindness of Jocelyn), it fuels her efforts to achieve grace when
there is very little of it to be had, just as Jocelyn’s emotional connections
with those around her cause her to be a loved and respected leader in the
community.
When Moira discovers the Jazzagals, a local singing group
led by Jocelyn, she is shocked to discover that she is required to audition to
become a member. Before her audition,
she is able to see a rehearsal – and has to follow an act that a competent
musician would have trouble doing. Not
surprisingly she falters. Though she is
accepted into the group, where she continues to put on airs, she is knocked
down several thousand pegs. Rather than
let this show, she continues to steam ahead as if she were the prima donna –
and when she is offered a part in a terrible Croatian movie with a director who
is uninvested in the movie (at best), she rallies him and the movie – and uses
this little bit of nothing as leverage to push her daughter’s career along (she
begins to actually see her daughter as a person a bit – though she also tries
to compete with her) and is ultimately able to use this platform she has been
afforded to discover and reassert her actual value in the world of daytime
television.
The most damaged characters, who are actually saved by their
plunge into Schitt’s Creek, are the children.
Their foils are more complicated.
Rather than just needing one mirror, they both need two, and Alexis, the
most damaged of them all, needs three (four, if you count her brother). The parents have each other. The kids do not have them and, though they
have each other, they need to strike out on their own, and it is very hard to
do this when their family isn’t a firm foundation to push against.
 |
| David and Stevie |
David Rose is a
winsome, lovely fellow who wears the most stylish sweaters anyone has ever seen. Summer or winter he wears them with style and
panache. He has a long history of failed
relationships. His neurotic self-involvement
and precarious self-esteem interfere with his ability to really see or connect
with others around him. His former
friends and lovers were attracted by his father’s money and ultimately failed
him. He, like his mother, is always the
center of attention – and yet he feels transparent when others look at him – as
if they can see through his sweaters and his skin and recognize his flaws and failings
and know that he is not all that he would present himself as being.
His first foil is Stevie
Budd (Emily
Hampshire), the proprietor of the Motel.
She has become as hardened to the world as David is. They have both been knocked around a lot and
have learned to create themselves as arch people who are above (in David’s
case) or disinterested (in Stevie’s) in those around them. And for both of them this archness is a
pretense – and a defense against the tremendous yearnings that each feels to be
known and loved. For Stevie, this
tension is played out at the end of season five when she is cast, seemingly
completely by mistake and against type, as Sally Bowles in Cabaret and we
discover her haunting desire to be admired, but more essentially, to be loved. Despite a brief sexual liaison including a
weird sex triangle, David and Stevie learn to appreciate each other and become
each other’s first and best friend.
David finds love in the gaze of Patrick “Pat” Brewer (Noah Reid). Pat is able to see David for who he is and to
love him, not in spite but because of that.
Pat has not previously been aware that he was attracted to men. He is as grounded as David is at sea. They first become business partners. They open a locally sourced general store of
consignment products. Patrick minds the books and David attends to the
aesthetics. And they argue over placing
products for profit or ambience. Pat
also happens to be a wonderful singer and, in an amazing scene, publicly sings
of his love for David, and we see David’s archness melt out of him.
 |
| Ted, Mutt, Alexis and Twyla |
Where David thinks he is transparent, Alexis Rose knows she is opaque.
Never having been an emotional object for her mother, she realizes that
people often don’t see beneath the surface and so she operates without concern
about their discovering who she is. She
has a history of having dated every one under the sun, beginning when she was
too young to be travelling alone internationally but, since her parents weren’t
paying attention, she did what she would.
In the second season, when David is worried about having to
take a driving test, Alexis reassures him that the examiner won’t be paying
attention and won’t know that he has made a mistake if David doesn’t call his
attention to it. This pivotal moment
immediately precedes an awkward lunch with one of David’s potential clients – a
producer of goat’s milk cheese; a woman who is now dating Alexis’ ex – a
veterinarian who proposed to her twice, but Alexis was to unsure of herself to recognize
the value of his love. Caught in the embarrassment
of being across the table from the woman who replaced her while she still has unacknowledged
feelings for her ex, she is able to leverage the relationship with her to
secure the contract that David so desperately wants – choosing to use her wiles
to help her brother – a much appreciated first.
Alexis’ foil is Twyla
Sands (Sarah Levy –
yes the last name is familiar, this is Dan Levy’s real life sister), who is the
chief waitress at the local coffee shop.
Twyla is the overlooked one – jealous of Alexis’ clothing, her
stylishness, and her jet set past.
Twyla, like Jocelyn in her relationship with Moira, is both star struck
and accommodating – overlooking Alexis’ faults as Alexis fails to see Twyla,
but relies on her. Twyla, for her part,
keeps a secret throughout the series that helps them achieve equal footing in
the final season as Twyla finally is able to turn to Alexis for real help – and
Alexis is able to recognize Twyla – and refuses to exploit their friendship.
Alexis’ initial love interest is Mutt Schitt (Tim
Rozon), Roland Schitt’s son – who is as unlike Roland as one can be. Competent, confident, and attuned to the
world, Mutt is a back-to-the-lander who lives in a barn. He is also attractive, which is what draws
Alexis in, and she drops him when he shaves, losing the beard, which is what
she loves about him. Having established
herself as shallow, Alexis next falls for Ted
Mullins (Dustin Milligan) the aforementioned veterinarian.
Ted turns out to be the love of Alexis’ young and lover
filled life. Despite her early and
repeated rebuff of him, he continues to hold a torch for her. He has always been seen as the catchiest of
catches in this small town. Where Mutt
was the bad boy, Ted is as good as the day is long. He realizes that Alexis is self-involved and
careless in her affection for him, and yet he believes in her – not just as an
attractive object, but as an attractive and potentially capable person. He supports her in getting not just a High
School Diploma (including in the classes she takes with Jocelyn), but a
community college degree that gives her the credentials to launch herself as
her mother’s publicist.
Alexis is an endearing character. She is cute.
She trusts her ability to charm her way out of any situation. And by the end of the series, she is able to
express genuine caring and concern for her family, her friends, and to feel
both closeness to and pain at the gulf between she and Ted. All while developing, in parallel with her
brother, the skills that are needed to navigate in the real world – skills that
they were protected from needing to develop by their wealth.
So Schitt’s Creek grew on me (and many other people). I even came to feel some affection for the
title. The characters – marooned up
Schitt’s Creek without a paddle - are able to figure out how to maneuver within
it, and how to paddle back out of it with a semblance of grace and even a bit
of charm. More importantly, they take
the sitcom to a new place – an exploration not just of static character, but of
character development.
The sitcom has been a staple of American – and my – life for
my entire lifetime. The final episode,
however, has usually been an anticlimax.
The final episode of Schitt’s creek famously swept every major category
in the Emmy’s, eclipsing the number of awards by the previous record holder, The
Marvelous Mrs. Mazel. Like Mrs.
Mazel, this should perhaps be classified as a sitdramcom. And the final episode seemed like a fitting
end and wrap up – it was very satisfying.
M*A*S*H, the longstanding dramatic sitcom that introduced
the idea of telling two stories instead of one in each episode, and that was a
commentary on our involvement in endless wars, was an endless piece of
entertainment. It introduced ideas and
new characters, but the characters were static – they deepened as the writers
and actors got to know the characters better, but they did not grow and change
as a result of their experiences in the sitcom, so the last episode was sad, as
we said good-bye to the characters in a variety of ways, but it was the sadness
of a high school graduation, where the members are drifting to the winds. The Mary Tyler Moore show ended in much the
same way – sending its graduates off into spin offs – which became the new way
to avoid feeling the loss of a familiar face on our television.
Seinfeld,
which took MASH’s ability to tie two plots together and upped them by two or
even three plots, all resolving, in the best episodes, into a single final
chord or note, could not end gracefully as its characters were dead set against
development and could only be held responsible for their actions – but as they
felt no remorse for what they had done, we were left with a distinctly
dissatisfying taste. Perhaps it was
Friends that began the march toward sitdramcom with the developmental shifts
that were part and parcel of being mid-twenty somethings in New York City. Did they have a compelling wrap up? I should know, but I frankly can’t remember
it.
This show – this inane piece of froth about a family we
should not care about – the Kardashians of this world – living on so much money
that, when it is taken away, they don’t have basic survival skills – teaches something
about what it means to become a family and, as this is part and parcel of that,
something of what it means to become an individual who is no longer dependent
on that family but is ready to stand on his or her own two feet and move out
into the world with the kind of skills that middle class – or no class people
in the broad Midwestern regions of our continent – the fly over zones – know how
to do.
And yet these pampered, self-involved, vain, and therefor
interesting and unique individuals also have something to teach us Midwesterners
about being true to oneself as one develops.
Something to teach us about living with style and grace even when stuck
in a world that doesn’t appreciate that.
And a lot to teach us about how to develop – how to grow – while remaining
true to oneself. How to deceive oneself
just enough to believe it possible to achieve what should be apparently
unattainable. And most importantly, to
do that through reconnecting – or perhaps connecting for the first time – with our
family.
Moira’s faith in Johnny – and in herself – is ultimately noble. So is her faith in David – and the pain she feels for him when others make fun of him – and her pleasure when he comes into his own. As we reconfigure our own family – welcoming back members who would have only been guests were it not for the pandemic – we have an opportunity as adults living under the same roof – to connect with each other in new and different ways. Sure, the old ways will out, and we often end up being less than stellar versions of ourselves, but because we are family we stick it out, just as the players in the sitcoms do. And because we are human, we might just grow from that experience, as the Roses managed to.
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