Review of Schmigadoon!
Like no vacation you've ever had
So I saw Schmigadoon! The exclamation point is not mine - that’s part of the title. The only other one-word title of a movie or TV show that I can think of with an exclamation point is Airplane!, a movie about two estranged lovers who reconcile and fall in love all over again after going through what for them is a bizarre, but what for the audience is a gleefully absurd experience. In this case, the exclamation point, combined with the various fonts used for the title and, you know, the word “Schmigadoon” itself, starts communicating immediately the sense of gleeful absurdity which pervades this TV show even more than that beloved disaster spoof. Grab your favorite snack and beverage, because it’s impossible not to have a good time in Schmigadoon.
I don’t think I’ve ever reviewed a TV show before (Schmigadoon! is a 6-episode limited series on Apple TV). I started watching this one because one of the stars is Cecily Strong. She’s my all-time favorite Saturday Night Live actor (sorry Will Ferrell), and her performances as The Girl You Wish You Hadn’t Started A Conversation With At A Party and Cathy Anne are some of my favorite sketches. She plays Melissa, one half of a couple with Josh (Keegan-Michael Key). Both doctors in New York, they go on a hike in the woods to work on their relationship. They see a quaint stone bridge, cross it, and end up in Schmigadoon. Crossing the bridge is the last normal thing they do or that happens to them for the rest of the series.
Schmigadoon! is a musical come to life. In every respect. As soon as Josh and Melissa walk in, the townspeople break into song, explaining what Schmigadoon is, and how wonderful it is. It really does seem to be wonderful, because it’s the kind of musical that takes place in an idealized small town America. It’s like a cross between The Music Man and a cheerleading squad. Melissa, who likes musicals, finds it charming. Josh, who makes his distaste for musicals very clear, does not. Still, looking forward to a respite from their recent experiences sleeping in the woods, they decide to stay at the Schmigadoon Inn. Which costs $1.
Trouble starts, insofar as there can be trouble in Schmigadoon at all, when they try to rent one room for the two of them. They aren’t married, which deeply offends Mrs. Layton (Kristin Chenoweth), wife of the town preacher and local exemplar of Puritanical extremism. She forces them to stay in separate rooms. Mrs. Layton (rhymes with Satan) does not dress in pastels. In the world of Schmigadoon, that seems to be a sin in and of itself.
Their troubles escalate to the point of an existential crisis when they learn that they can’t leave until they discover true love. This news about their new reality is conveyed by that traditional magical mischief maker, a leprechaun (Martin Short). He’s the only mystical creature to make an appearance, which is almost too bad. If an elf had arrived on a unicorn, I would’ve totally bought it. They find this requirement deeply confusing, because they believe they are in love. The universe of Schmigadoon, however, seems to disagree with their perspective on their relationship. So should they break up, and each try to find true love among the small pool of eligible singles among the citizens of Schmigadoon (population 167)? Or should they mend their differences in the face of a very strange dilemma? You’ll have to watch to find out!
A friend likes to say that he doesn’t mind if movies violate the laws of physics, as long as they are consistent with the rules for whatever universe they create. Among the laws of Schmigadoon seems to be that everything has to be entertaining, everything has to be impeccably crafted, including the songs and the choreography, and everything has to be color-coordinated. Most movies and TV shows try to have a consistent aesthetic, but I’ve never seen anything like this. Clothing, buildings, scenery, signs and even all the plants blend and complement each other in ways that are just spectacular. Every scene is a visual feast. Compared to Schmigadoon!, Mary Poppins is an exercise in gritty realism. As a musical imbued with more than a pinch of pixie dust, it bears almost no relationship to anything real. Which gives the creative team license to make everything exactly as they want it, and exactly as it should be for each individual scene. Even Josh and Melissa’s t-shirts usually match the decor. When they don’t, it’s clear that at that moment, they are meant to stand out. Which they can’t help doing, not just because they are a little different, not just because they are more than a little confused by Schmigadoon, but because when they try to live their lives as they are used to, they end up challenging the norms of Schmigadoon. They’re New Yorkers; they shake things up just by being themselves.
The mere presence of Josh and Melissa throws the clichés of small-town life into sharp relief. These clichés are somehow charming because, after all, this is an idealized version of small-town America. It’s like a candy-colored Norman Rockwell painting. The clichés are charming because the songs are that catchy, the dancing is that good, and the cast is phenomenal. There’s a reason Kristin Chenoweth is a world-famous singer. The clichés set up plot twists that are not only not surprising, they’re almost blindingly obvious. The mayor (Alan Cumming), is named Aloysius Menlove. His wife (Ann Harada) sings a song about how she loves that her husband “is a queer one.” If the foreshadowing were any more obvious, it would be in neon - and it would be tasteful neon artfully displayed that would accentuate the pastels. But the clichés and foreshadowing are taking place in a world that surprises you just by virtue of its existence. So even when things are just what you expect, they’re not what you expect.
Josh and Melissa stumbled on Schmigadoon as they were working on their relationship, and end up jostling things just enough to make life a little more interesting for its residents. Does Schmigadoon change them as well?
I’ll give you one guess.
Will Schmigadoon change you? Will it make you a happier, more joyful person? Will you find yourself watching it multiple times, wondering how the lyrics of a song about corn pudding (sorry, corn puddin’) can be stuck in your head? Will you find yourself wanting to watch it with a gay friend who can explain all of the musical theater references to you? (This is not a stereotype - I have several gay friends who can do that. And straight friends). Will you be relieved and thrilled that the American entertainment industry - i.e., Hollywood - can still produce a TV show at once lighthearted and cheerful, but also deeply emotionally satisfying?
I’ll give you one guess.