Friends is gone for good. Could we BE any sadder?

The creator of Friends, that cultural juggernaut we all love to love, has confirmed there won't be a reunion any time soon. Will anything ever live up to it?

 

Something huge happened this week. We shared a collective human moment, in which we finally laid to rest a huge cultural icon which had cast a long, inescapable shadow. Everything that came after it was forever marked by it, directly or indirectly, for good or for ill. It was finally confirmed, chums: that Friends reunion you were secretly hoping against hope for, desperately willing into existence? It’s not happening. It will never happen. Marta Kauffman has said so, and she should know, seeing as she is one of the creators of what became a cultural juggernaut. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. In my best approximation of Chandler Bing, could I BE any sadder? (No. I could not.) 

Of course, we knew it could never happen. Are you crazy? Remember Adam and Joe’s marvellously silly low-budget but high-entertainment Channel 4 show, called, er, The Adam and Joe Show? They did an excellent spoof of Friends, called FURENDS in which the glossy Hollywood cast was played by stuffed furry creatures. Here’s a clip: 

In case you missed it, the refrain goes: “we’ll be here for you, for a hundred grand a show”. 

It would take all the money in the Emirates to bring new Friends to any screen – big or small – near you. And anyway, everyone’s moved on. Jennifer’s keeping a cottage industry of tabloids going by remaining unwed, female and attractive, Matthew’s working on Go On (and guest starring on The Good Wife from time to time, one hopes), Courtney made quirky comedy Cougar Town, David wears a beard and directs and Lisa (for my money the best actor on the show) continues to do interesting film and TV work from time to time. Friends is over. They were there for us, for ten years, and now they are no longer there, except via DVD and Comedy Central. In a world where Matt Le Blanc – reborn as an older, more silver and even wildly more attractive version of his 90s self – is in turn playing a version of himself/Joey Tribbiani on the very enjoyable Episodes, the message is clear. We rocked your TV worlds and changed your TV lives, we get it. But you need to let us go. In any case, “a hundred grand a show” was laughably modest. If nothing else, they must be too busy counting their money (pre-recession interest rates, no less) to consider a reunion. 

I’ve thought about this a lot (too much?), and concluded that Friends is probably my favourite show of all time. I was awed by State of Play, flabbergasted by The Shadow Line, charmed by Frasier, warmed by The Cosby Show, excited by Misfits and moved by The Wire. But I loved Friends. I’ve watched every episode, from beginning to end, over and over. It’s comfort food, familiar and requiring little to no effort from me at this point, which I appreciate as I get older and the boxsets accumulate. It is often betrayed by its scene furniture: the music references (oh, Hootie and the Blowfish), its now-dated cultural icons (Jean-Claude van Damme and Noah Wyle and George Clooney, at the height of their ER fame, playing doctors etc.) and its awful, awful fashion. But the gags display a calibre that was often hard to beat. Yes, they were self-absorbed, privileged twenty-somethings living in one of the most expensive cities in the world, but they were funny and real and human. After a lifetime of watching television in unhealthy quantities, Friends provides the biggest chunk of the references I have stored away in the intricate pop culture Rolodex in my mind. Sometimes, I still whisper "seven" when giving out a number. And when the person gets it, I give them a mental – or sometimes physical – high five. 

It is not perfect, of course. At the New Statesman Centenary debate earlier this month, I bemoaned the lack of diversity in Friends, from a curiously monochrome New York to the recycling of a storyline for two black female guest stars over the course of the show. And the fat-suit-clad young Monica (a standard TV trope of the "ugly duckling made good") always struck a weird note, even if it tried to pinpoint a solid and satisfying back-story for the character. The central relationship of Ross and Rachel was finely observed, their initial breakup actually harrowing for a sitcom. It had great recurring guest stars with proper arcs – Paul Rudd, Aisha Tyler, Lauren Tom, Tom Selleck, Jane Sibbett – as well as the type to draw a whoop from the studio audience – Bruce Willis, Jeff Goldblum, Kathleen Turner, Christina Applegate and Reese Witherspoon aka the Green sisters. It’s a hard trick to pull off stunt casting without you know, looking like stunt casting, but when Friends was the biggest show in the world, it managed just that. It had its doldrums seasons too: 9 and 10 were often watchable, but showcased a show that was a former shadow of itself. As for the Emily debacle of Season 4/5, the less said the better, even though it did give us a corker of a season finale and also this marvellous quiz. When one considers a ten-year run which contained an unbroken string of sparkling seasons, it would be churlish not to forgive and forget those indiscretions. 

The legacy of Friends is best seen in the television its absence has bequeathed us. From New Girl to Happy Endings, nothing quite lives up to it and perhaps nothing ever will. And we need to be okay about that and just let it die, already.

 

 

Oh, look how ridiculous good-looking and clean-cut they were.

Bim Adewunmi writes about race, feminism and popular culture. Her blog is  yorubagirldancing.com and you can find her on Twitter as @bimadew.

Via David Moloney of the Great News For All Readers blog
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The dark, forgotten world of British girls’ comics is about to be resurrected

The UK’s most surreal and innovative comic strips have long been gathering dust. As a publisher acquires the archives, they could be heading for a renaissance.

Comics now exert a massive influence on popular culture, yet those that do are almost exclusively drawn from two American publishers, and mostly exist within one genre: Superheroics.

Comics, though, are a medium, not a genre, and, in acquiring this prominence, American superhero comics have obscured almost everything else done in the medium both in the US and elsewhere.

British comics, from publishers like DC Thomson, IPC and Fleetway, rarely involved superheroes, and were traditionally anthologies, with multiple episodic serials running at all times. They were divided by their publishers into three categories, humour comics aimed at younger children (The Beano and The Dandy remain well-known, although only the former still exists), comics aimed at boys (largely war comics, such as Battle, which also incorporated sports stories and science fiction), and titles specifically targeted at older girls.


All scans courtesy of David Moloney of the Great News For All Readers blog​.

The girls’ titles, particularly, have largely disappeared from common memory, acknowledged only by a handful of enthusiasts. This is odd, as at their peak, they routinely massively outsold the boys’ titles they shared shelf space with.

Bunty (1958-2001) is one of the few girls’ titles to retain any cache, but it had many stablemates and competitors. Some were devoted to straightforward romantic series, and strips with “improving moral messages” (eg. the girl who gets her dream job after helping a blind man out rather than be on time to her interview; it turns out to have been a test).

They also ran features that reflected then contemporary assumptions as to what all girls would/must like (Bunty often had a “cut-out wardrobe” clothes section as its back page), but there was also more variety in tone and content than you might expect.

The Seventies saw the creation of Tammy (1971-84), Jinty (1974-81) and Misty (1978-80). Tammy’s stories were often bleak, and many were variations on the darkest aspects of Cinderella (“Alison All Alone” saw a contemporary girl locked up by step-parents for reasons that are never really articulated).

Jinty ran some relatively normal contemporary school stories, eschewing a jolly hockey sticks angle and pushing something closer to kitchen sink drama (eg. “Pam of Pond Hill”, a Grange Hill-like series set in a comprehensive). But, as time went on, it became darker and odder, running series like John Wagner’s “The Blind Ballerina” (which has been described by acclaimed comic book writer Alan Moore as “cynical and possibly actually evil”).

The lack of credits in most comics in this era meant the audience would’ve been largely unaware that their favourite stories, with their almost exclusively female casts were, like “The Blind Ballerina”, largely written and drawn by men.

Misty creator Pat Mills’ recollection is that while the publishers of the time had many women on staff, most of them saw magazines for older girls and women as the more worthwhile publications than comics.


Women who left a significant mark on these male-dominated titles include Jinty editor Mavis Miller, writer Benita Brown (later an author of historical family sagas set in the northeast which could rival Catherine Cookson when it came to being borrowed from public libraries), and Shirley Bellwood whose consistently magnificent covers for Misty – reputedly largely portraits of her own younger self – were responsible for establishing its aesthetic.

Pat Mills intended that Misty would do to, and for, girls’ comics what his own 2000AD had done with boys’ comics. Whereas 2000AD was, and indeed is, the ultimate science fiction anthology book, Misty would be – as its logo of a bat silhouetted against the moon suggested – unapologetically a horror comic.

Typical Misty serials include “The Loving Cup” (a cursed goblet vessel causes women who drink from it to be possessed by Lucrezia Borgia), and “Winner Loses All” (in which a girl sells her soul to Satan to both save her alcoholic father and become a champion showjumper – the horse is cursed, of course).

Then there’s “Screaming Point”, about a hangman who dabbles in diabolic resurrection of his own clients, or Misty’s longest running single story, “Paint it Black”, in which cursed paints cause a girl quite a lot of trouble. More sci-fi than supernatural – but still within the horror remit – was “The Sentinels”, a serial about two tower blocks in contemporary Britain, which simultaneously exist in the real 1970s and in an alternative timeline where the country has been occupied by the Nazis since the 1940s.

If you’re now wondering why these amazing-sounding stories are no longer available to read, here’s the good news: you may very soon be able to. In August, Rebellion, the owners of 2000AD, bought a vast archive of old classic British comics from Egmont UK (the Fleetway and IPC Youth Group archives), which includes all the above material and more.

Rebellion, initially a computer games company known for the Sniper Elite series, bought 2000AD from Fleetway in, well, 2000AD. Fleetway was also the original publisher of Misty, and so on, although they’ve passed through other hands since.

This is oddly reminiscent of the “hatch, match and despatch” process, where a publisher would “merge” a cancelled comic into another they owned, incorporating the most popular characters and strips into the new composite title. This was the process whereby Tammy absorbed both Misty and Jinty as their sales declined. Mills has suggested that, had he had more direct control, Misty would, like 2000AD, still be running today.

Rebellion has already published a single slim volume of two Misty serials (containing the very odd, and very Seventies, reincarnation drama “Moonchild”, and the genuinely horrifying “The Four Faces of Eve”) and more are planned, but may depend on sales of this volume. If I could take this opportunity to call for a public vote in favour of reprinting Tammy’s startling “Karen, the Loneliest Girl in the World” here, I’d be grateful.


Reprints though, should really only be the beginning. With Rebellion having access to the Egmont archive and its intellectual property, could we see films or television series of some of Misty or Jinty’s best series?

With their female leads, strong emotional content, science fiction and horror aspects and political and social angles, it’s hard to deny that much of the content of Misty or a Jinty has a similar appeal to the kind YA books that become billion-dollar film franchises these days, in the exact same way American boys’ comics do.

It is startlingly easy to imagine opening an issue of Misty and finding a forgotten 1970s strip version of Twilight, or seeing The Hunger Games on the centre pages of Jinty. The main difference would be that they’d both be set in Slough.

With a bit of luck, some of the most peculiar, imaginative and challenging work in British comics could soon be raised from the dead in a new century and in a different form entirely, and then go on to dominate the world. Which, rather appropriately, sounds like something out of Misty.