When was the “golden age of television”? The term was first used to refer to the 1950s, when TV plays, written by respected authors such as Paddy Chayefsky, were shot live-to-tape, and excelled at realistic social drama, and also included seminal comedies such as I Love Lucy (CBS, 1951–57) and The Honeymooners. Almost every decade since, argues television critic Todd VanDerWerff (2013b), has its champions who wish to identify it as“another golden age.” For our purposes, we can identify the beginning of a second golden age of television in the 1990s, based not just on the exceptionally high quality acting, directing, and writing, but also as the point when many series moved away from speaking with Newcomb’s “priestly voice” and began speaking with a more prophetic voice—a voice of one who, according to Daniel Pals (2006: 167),“has been specially called by either the voice of God or a vision of Truth to proclaim a life-altering message.” Examples include The X-Files, with its distrust of
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government narratives, and Homicide (NBC, 1993–99), with its critique of criminal justice and penal systems, and its theological exploration of evil (see Siegler 2009; 2001), but there are many more.
Animated sitcoms
In the 1990s, the television genre that took religion most seriously, and voiced a prophetic critique of society in general and religion in particular, was the primetime- animated sitcom, and The Simpsons (FOX, 1989–present) was the first and arguably the best. It also enabled others to create sophisticated animated shows, each speaking with a different voice, but each prophetically critiquing every aspect of American life. Much has been written on the relationship between The Simpsons and religion (see Feltmate 2013a; Dalton et al. 2011; Pinsky 2007; Turner 2004: 268–80), for good reason. At least once a season, The Simpsons has featured an episode that focuses exclusively on religion. One of the first is “Like Father, Like Clown” (aired 24 October 1991)—one of a surprisingly few to focus on Judaism—that reconceptua- lized in comic form the film classic The Jazz Singer (1927). Another is “Homer the Heretic” (aired 8 October 1992), which explores religious diversity, mainstream Protestantism, and religious individualism. These episodes share a tone that is both mocking and sympathetic.
The series is an intertextual and polysemic text that rewards cultural knowledge and careful viewing, especially when it comes to the religion-focused shows. One example, “The Joy of Sects” (aired 8 February 1998), portrays the Simpson family joining a new religious movement (the “Movementarians”), and plays on popular fear of NRMs in general, but also on specific aspects, drawing from contemporary NRMs such as Heaven’s Gate, Scientology, the Rajneesh movement, the Unification Church, and others. The episode also satirizes the anti-cult movement (complete with a particularly violence-prone deprogrammer), NRM portrayal in the media, and (again) Protestantism.
In its early days, The Simpsons was criticized for being immoral; Bart Simpson’s catchphrases were considered disruptive when imitated by school children, and the Simpsons’ Evangelical neighbors, the Flanders, were seen as cruel stereotypes. But as the series has developed, Ned Flanders has become beloved by some Evangelicals, and the series itself is a cultural institution that, instead of being seen as an anti- “family values” program, is loved by Evangelicals and taught in some churches and seminaries (particularly“Homer the Heretic”). However, the program’s most direct heir (in terms of its prophetic critique of religion), South Park (Comedy Central, 1997– present), is still considered offensive. This may be due to the fact that its creators, Matt Stone and Trey Parker, deliberately undermine the codes of quality television: their animation is crude, and they do most of the voices themselves (which makes them all sound alike). But South Park also deliberately provokes controversy in a way The Simpsons never has, particularly in its treatment of the Catholic Church, including the sacraments (“Do the Handicapped Go to Hell?” aired 19 July 2000), clerical abuse scandals (“Red Hot Catholic Love,” aired 3 July 2002) and miracles (“Bloody Mary,” aired 7 December 2005), which have raised the ire of many watchdog groups (Feltmate 2013b).
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A more realistic but no less pointed satire of religion can be found on King of the Hill (FOX, 1997–2010), which excelled at portraying ordinary religion in suburban Sunbelt America.6It was particularly good at skewering Evangelical popular culture,
including puppet shows for Evangelical children (“Meet the Manger Babies,” aired 11 January 1998), hip skateboarding ministries for teens (“Reborn to be Wild,” aired 9 November 2003), megachurches (“Church Hopping,” aired 9 April 2006), hell houses (“Hilloween,” aired 26 October 1997), and “re-virginizing” (“Luanne Virgin 2.0,” aired 11 March 2001).
Three other primetime animated programs presenting a critique of American culture and religion—Futurama (FOX, 1999–2003; Comedy Central, 2008–13), Family Guy (FOX, 1999–present), and Adventure Time (Cartoon Network, 2010–present)—sug- gest that this genre may be particularly suited for critiquing religion (see Pinsky 2007). Adventure Time conjures up a wholly different kind of prophetic voice about religion. Ostensibly a children’s show, it focuses on adopted brothers—a human boy named Finn and a talking, shape-shifting dog named Jake—who live in the fantasy land of Ooo. The more one watches, the more one realizes that Ooo (which may be post-apocalyptic earth, a thousand years hence) occupies a polytheist universe, with many deities odd in both name (Grob Gob Glob Grod, Prismo, Death, Cosmic Owl, Party God) and appearance.
In their treatment of religion, these animated sitcoms are far ahead of anything “non-animated” in terms of both quality and quantity. Even the more sophisticated quality sitcoms of the 2000s and 2010s (30 Rock [NBC, 2006–13], The Office [NBC, 2005–13]) generally avoided religion beyond holiday specials or weddings. One exception is Community (NBC, 2009–14), about a group of strangers enrolled at community college. In terms of its combination of emotion and satire, its wide range of popular culture references, and its eclectic subject matter, Community is more like The Simpsonsthan a typical live-action sitcom. And like The Simpsons, at least once a season Community focuses on religious issues. In thefirst season’s Christmas episode, “Comparative Religion” (aired 10 December 2009), the central characters reveal their religious commitments: an Evangelical Protestant, a Jew, an atheist, an agnostic, a Muslim, a Jehovah’s Witness, and a “Level Five Laser Lotus in my Buddhist com- munity”—surely the most religiously diverse television ensemble ever. The series satirizes both the blandness of public institutions’ acknowledgement of religion (the college’s Dean dresses up as “a non-denominational Mister Winter” and wishes everybody a“merry happy” and “a sensible night, appropriate night”) and the con- descending and proselytizing attitude of Christians at Christmas (the Evangelical character contrasts her baby Jesus figure as the “savior of all mankind” with the Jewish character’s menorah as a “trinket from your philosophy”).
The rise of the anti-hero
One agreed upon date for the beginning of the golden age is the premiere of The Sopranos (HBO, 1999–2007) (see Martin 2013; VanDerWerff 2013b), which ushered in the age of the HBO model: a highly serialized, high quality drama with a large cast and generally ten to thirteen episodes per season. Many of the most celebrated series in this model have revolved around an anti-hero, including Tony Soprano on The
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Sopranos, Vic Mackey on The Shield (FX, 2002–8), Don Draper on Mad Men (AMC, 2007–present), and Walter White of Breaking Bad. These programs (and others like them: Dexter [Showtime, 2006–13] and Boardwalk Empire [HBO, 2010–present]) have permanently enlarged the possibilities of religion on television.7
In all of these series, the protagonists live double lives, and act upon their darker impulses over and over again. Audiences identify with the characters but are also repulsed by them, a double effect leading them to question their own morality. The series with the greatest impact—The Sopranos, The Shield, Mad Men, and Breaking Bad—are artistic creations of the highest quality, and consistently and self-consciously probe such moral themes as the capacity for humans to change. At their heart is the question of responsibility for “evil” and where to locate it (see Kuo and Wu 2012). Yet none of the series refer to “God” or any religious tradition at all; with some notable exceptions, there is a complete absence of religion in the lives of any of the main characters. The Sopranos, about an Italian-American mobster, lends itself to Catholic stereotypes; one might speculate about the religious identity of the pro- gram’s creator, David Chase, an Italian-American from New Jersey, or imagine the rich dialogue between Tony Soprano and a priest. But Chase was raised in a Protestant household (McCabe and Akass 2007: 191), and Tony confesses to his Italian-American psychiatrist.8On Breaking Bad and The Shield, none of the major or
secondary characters express any religious views (positive or negative) or attend religious services. And Mad Men keeps religion in the background, possibly as a reflection of religious themes of the 1960s—the death of God or the hegemony of the Protestant establishment—a reading nominally supported by a comment made by Betty Draper in “The Color Blue” (aired 18 October 2009) in response to her daughter’s questioning why they don’t go to church weekly like their African-American maid, Carla:“we don’t have to go.”9
But what these shows do offer is a critique of moral degradation, greed, and cor- ruption in American society. By our love for the central character we have watched for so many years, we have been made into willing accomplices. These anti-heroes are constantly justifying their evil actions to themselves and to others. Their lies also draw in the viewer, and make the audience complicit in the sin. These four series are also concerned with the fate of the central character. The audience is wishing, hoping, wondering whether they will die by thefinal episode, and whether that death will be seen as a punishment or a release.
Much has been written about the philosophical, moral, and spiritual aspects of The Sopranos(see Reinhartz 2009), but the other programs have received less attention. AMC’s Mad Men, set in a New York ad agency in the 1960s, is built around the same tensions as The Sopranos: tension between home and work lives, between pur- suing the American dream and the real costs of that dream, between who we pretend to be and who we really are.10The anti-hero, Don Draper, may not be as murderous
as Soprano, but he is more of a liar. The program’s prophetic critique of advertising as metonymy for America is perhaps best seen in Draper’s multi-episode relation- ship with a lightlyfictionalized version of hotel magnate Conrad Hilton. As Draper pursues Hilton’s business, he must accept Hilton’s folksy morality, whether he’s chastising Draper for not having a Bible or a picture of his family at his desk, or calling him in the middle of the night, while sitting with a large glass of whiskey, a
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rosary, and a thick Bible, expressing a wish to open Hilton hotels in every country in the world, as well as the moon. Hilton’s characterization seems an obvious critique for the confluence of American Christianity, capitalism, and political expansionism. On The Shield, the anti-hero is Detective Mackey but, to some extent, all of the characters are corrupt—with the notable exception of Detective Claudette Wyms, the voice of morality for the duration of the series. The heart of the evil is the Strike Team: four detectives who exercise vigilante justice, cleaning up the streets and giving themselves the ability to bargain with their superiors in the LAPD, who are generally willing to look the other way. The Strike Team doesn’t just bend the law; they are a full-fledged criminal enterprise that regularly engages in murder, torture, and robbery. The rotten heart of a corrupt institution is physicalized by the Strike Team’s private “clubhouse” in the middle of the squad room (which is in a deconsecrated church).
Breaking Bad has been characterized as the end of the anti-hero genre, not only taking the trope as far as it can go (in Walter White’s journey from mild mannered high school teacher to mass-murdering drug kingpin, all accompanied by lies and rationalization), but also rejecting the moral relativity of The Sopranos and Mad Men in favor of an uncompromising theological vision. It has been called one of “the most moral shows in the history of television” (Holmes 2013). Television critic Todd VanDerWerff (2013c) has called it “a religious show,” and notes that
Walter White isn’t just a sinner. He’s a man who pushes further and further into his dark heart, who unleashes all manner of destruction upon the world, both at large and in his own home. He is a murderer, many times over; he is a man who abuses his wife; and he is a force of fear for everyone who sees his true face. He is, for lack of a better word, Satan… . He gives in to his selfishness and pride, his rage and resentment. He becomes the devil, and he is punished accordingly. He lived in something like heaven, and he chose to create something far more like hell. Breaking Bad argues that that is a choice too many of us make, every day of our lives.
Kuo and Wu compare the series, in its philosophy of the origin of evil and its human-centered narrative, to John Milton’s Paradise Lost, which in many ways is the ur-text of the anti-hero genre:
Like Milton’s Satan, Walt seeks to reason and justify his rebellion. He invokes art, science, free market rationality, protection of one’s family … . In Breaking Bad the villain is not sociology, but a human being; what destroys the mortals is not a system, but a fellow mortal. This is a human-centered vision of the origin of evil. It is Old Testament at its core.
(Kuo and Wu 2012) There are other high quality hour-long dramas with strong moral visions that are not “single male anti-hero” dramas. These shows, with large casts on both sides of the law (or conflict) offer prophetic critiques of civilization itself: Deadwood (HBO, 2004–6), which critiques the formation of American institutions; The Wire (HBO, 2002–8),
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which critiques the systemic breakdown of American institutions; and the rebooted franchise of Battlestar Galactica (SyFy, 2004–9), which posits the future of our insti- tutions. And while The Wire is not interested in theology per se, Deadwood very explicitly invokes Pauline theology (see Mitchell 2013; Newcomb 2009) and Battlestar Galacticais well known for its sophisticated take on religion in its depiction of a war between monotheists and polytheists (see Wetmore 2012).