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For those of us not involved in television or movies, the reigning stereotype of the Hollywood pitch meeting is of a striving young writer scoring a one-on-one with a producer and launching into “It’s X meets Y.” Lifetime TV’s new “comedic drama” series Drop Dead Diva is a veritable JDate of collisions: Heaven Can Wait meets Legally Blonde meets Shallow Hal meets Brother From Another Planet. With all those ingredients (and more!), the show could've been a murky goop; instead, it's a refreshing summer cocktail.
The plot seems ridiculously convoluted, but thanks to good writing, the conceit was established early, and by Episode 3, which aired this weekend, viewers have no problem accepting that Deb Dobson, a self-centered and air-headed aspiring model, ploughed her zippy red sports car into a fruit truck, and after a disagreement at heaven's gate, ended up in the body of Jane Bingum, a selfless, zaftig lawyer. Jane kept her intelligence—and, more or less, her grasp on the rules of evidence—but Deb's consciousness is very much alive.
The combination of Jane's big heart and smarts and Deb's style and sassiness adds up to an entertaining courtroom drama of the kind not seen since L.A. Law went off the air. (Yes, yes, Boston Legal tried to go there, but it was far too full of annoying tics and tricks.) Drop Dead Diva is also sweetly poignant: Jane moves in with Deb's best friend, Stacy, another blonde model, but they can't do the things they once enjoyed: Plus-sized Jane would never get into the clubs where they used to party, and besides, she's got a lot of lawyering to do. (When Stacy asks why Jane has to work so much, it's hard to come up with a good answer.) And by an only-on-television coincidence, Deb's grieving fiance Grayson just got a job at Jane's law firm, which leads to all kinds of lingering looks across the conference table. Oh, and Kim, Jane's rival at the firm, also appears to be gunning for Grayson.
Of course, it wouldn't have been quite so amusing if the show's big issue—the way that big women are desexualized, taken for granted, and generally treated shoddily—were mishandled. But so far, at least, it hasn't been. Overall, the tone is light and fluffy, but Episode 2's subplot about a woman fired from a Hooters-type bar after she put on 50 pounds tackled fatophobia head on, and winningly so. (Less convincing was the notion that the woman would want her job back, rather than a hefty settlement and the chance to yell "screw you" at her boss.) And perhaps it's my imagination, but it seems like the casting director has hired more full-figured bit players than is typical for television.
The show's success is mostly down to the actress playing Jane: Broadway veteran Brooke Elliott. (Many of the cast have stage experience—is an all-singing, all-dancing episode too much to ask for?) Elliott has her own winning formula: charm meets vulnerability meets clever meets cute.
(You can watch full episodes of Drop Dead Diva at Lifetime's website.)
Photograph of Brooke Ellison as Deb Dobson courtesty of Lifetime.
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For those of us not involved in television or movies, the reigning stereotype of the Hollywood pitch meeting is of a striving young writer scoring a one-on-one with a producer and launching into “It’s X meets Y.” Lifetime TV’s new “comedic drama” series Drop Dead Diva is a veritable JDate of collisions: Heaven Can Wait meets Legally Blonde meets Shallow Hal meets Brother From Another Planet. With all those ingredients (and more!), the show could've been a murky goop; instead, it's a refreshing summer cocktail.
The plot seems ridiculously convoluted, but thanks to good writing, the conceit was established early, and by Episode 3, which aired this weekend, viewers have no problem accepting that Deb Dobson, a self-centered and air-headed aspiring model, ploughed her zippy red sports car into a fruit truck, and after a disagreement at heaven's gate, ended up in the body of Jane Bingum, a selfless, zaftig lawyer. Jane kept her intelligence—and, more or less, her grasp on the rules of evidence—but Deb's consciousness is very much alive.
The combination of Jane's big heart and smarts and Deb's style and sassiness adds up to an entertaining courtroom drama of the kind not seen since L.A. Law went off the air. (Yes, yes, Boston Legal tried to go there, but it was far too full of annoying tics and tricks.) Drop Dead Diva is also sweetly poignant: Jane moves in with Deb's best friend, Stacy, another blonde model, but they can't do the things they once enjoyed: Plus-sized Jane would never get into the clubs where they used to party, and besides, she's got a lot of lawyering to do. (When Stacy asks why Jane has to work so much, it's hard to come up with a good answer.) And by an only-on-television coincidence, Deb's grieving fiance Grayson just got a job at Jane's law firm, which leads to all kinds of lingering looks across the conference table. Oh, and Kim, Jane's rival at the firm, also appears to be gunning for Grayson.
Of course, it wouldn't have been quite so amusing if the show's big issue—the way that big women are desexualized, taken for granted, and generally treated shoddily—were mishandled. But so far, at least, it hasn't been. Overall, the tone is light and fluffy, but Episode 2's subplot about a woman fired from a Hooters-type bar after she put on 50 pounds tackled fatophobia head on, and winningly so. (Less convincing was the notion that the woman would want her job back, rather than a hefty settlement and the chance to yell "screw you" at her boss.) And perhaps it's my imagination, but it seems like the casting director has hired more full-figured bit players than is typical for television.
The show's success is mostly down to the actress playing Jane: Broadway veteran Brooke Elliott. (Many of the cast have stage experience—is an all-singing, all-dancing episode too much to ask for?) Elliott has her own winning formula: charm meets vulnerability meets clever meets cute.
(You can watch full episodes of Drop Dead Diva at Lifetime's website.)
Photograph of Brooke Ellison as Deb Dobson courtesty of Lifetime.
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June, Drop Dead Diva ties together two things we’ve been kicking around the blog the last few days: Is T.V. a better place for women than film? And why on Earth do we keep paying to watch terrible romantic comedies like The Ugly Truth, when we could be sitting around in our PJs watching something slightly better for free? (or, at least it feels like it’s free once you pay the cable bill.)
Regarding the first question, Drop Dead Diva is pretty convincing evidence that T.V. is a better place for women, or at least for ones that don’t look like movies stars. This show, with this cast, is not about to end up at the cineplex any time soon. It is also, Nina, a comedy, suggesting that genre can be as good for fully developed female characters as dramas. There are some moments of seriousness and no laugh track, but that’s just because the latter is out of style. The cast mugs, often. My favorite recurring joke, and one pulled off only because Brooke Elliott’s really good at her job, comes when some of Jane’s intelligence bounds to the forefront of Deb’s previously dim brain. It hurts. Deb always reacts with a yelp of prideful, painful surprise, like you would if you smashed your big toe on the top of a door frame: ouch, but, oh my god, you are so awesomely flexible.
Of course, if this show somehow did end up in theaters, but were reduced to two hours, it would seem, as Nina suggests, pretty damn silly. Also, how would it end? With Jane/Deb landing Deb’s old fiancé? I know we’re supposed to root for this, but I have a hard time swooning for the guy who fell for an idiot. When the show flashes back to Deb’s first meeting with him, I couldn’t understand what he liked about her, except that she was hot. Jane, and also a newly intelligent Deb, deserves better.
But before I go anointing television a better place to see rom-coms than the movie theater (though, another really good T.V. rom-com, that Sam praised earlier this year, and, much like Drop Dead Diva is a whole lot more charming than its plot synopsis might suggest, is Soapnet’s Being Erica—seriously, good stuff), I think it’s important to talk about expectations. We expect more from movies than we do from television, especially television that airs right before Army Wives. If The Ugly Truth were playing on basic cable, or rather, when The Ugly Truth is playing on cable, I will be excited to watch it. Perhaps it will be airing right after 27 Dresses but before How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. If so, I will happily waste six hours of my life. (It is possible watching romantic comedies on cable is like drinking diet soda? Most of the taste, none of the guilt?)
But, you know what? I kind of want to see The Ugly Truth in theaters, too. Jess wondered if there was a reason we keep paying to see mediocre films like The Ugly Truth, other than for a good old “hate watch.” But, honestly, I never go see a movie for a “hate watch,” or seeking an ironic, “it’s so bad it’s funny” viewing experience. I go for all the same reasons that I sometimes eat Twinkies and Dominoes and read Twilight and watch The Bachelorette: Sometimes bad taste tastes good!
I don’t go see lame, girl-hating romantic comedies in theaters just so I can knock them—I go see them because I don’t really care that they are bad. (Of course, if they suck as much as Ghosts of Girlfriends Past, which clocked in at about 95 percent suckage, I get very bitter. But the 60 percent suckage of The Proposal did not bother me at all. As bad as romantic comedies have been of late, to get to 90 percent suckage is still pretty rare). All I want from a stupid rom-com is, boy meets girl, boy and girl get complicated, boy and girl end up together, and, maybe, three real laughs, one well-realized scene, nothing hugely, overtly misogynistic or racist, and for both the boy and girl to be really attractive. Of course, I would prefer, hugely, for romantic comedies not to be stupid, but, well, I would also prefer for all bagels to taste like they were made in New York City. Sometimes, you just crave the carbs anyway.
And this (the bagel analogy!) is the real problem about the state of romantic comedies in film: Once upon a time, Hollywood mostly made New York City bagels, while television was churning out, like, microwaved bread in the shape of a donut. Recently, T.V. has learned a trick or two about making entertainment (and about making art), while movies have forgotten a trick or two about making entertainment that is art. If T.V. keeps getting better and better at romantic comedies, and films keep getting worse and worse, there will be some day, not so long from now, when even I get fed up with the stupidity and realize movies will never ever remember how to make bagels like they used to, and I will just have to watch The Philadelphia Story on my computer, before turning on the 60th episode of Drop Dead Diva. But that probably won't happen until after Love Happens, because I kind of want to see that.
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June, Drop Dead Diva ties together two things we’ve been kicking around the blog the last few days: Is T.V. a better place for women than film? And why on Earth do we keep paying to watch terrible romantic comedies like The Ugly Truth, when we could be sitting around in our PJs watching something slightly better for free? (or, at least it feels like it’s free once you pay the cable bill.)
Regarding the first question, Drop Dead Diva is pretty convincing evidence that T.V. is a better place for women, or at least for ones that don’t look like movies stars. This show, with this cast, is not about to end up at the cineplex any time soon. It is also, Nina, a comedy, suggesting that genre can be as good for fully developed female characters as dramas. There are some moments of seriousness and no laugh track, but that’s just because the latter is out of style. The cast mugs, often. My favorite recurring joke, and one pulled off only because Brooke Elliott’s really good at her job, comes when some of Jane’s intelligence bounds to the forefront of Deb’s previously dim brain. It hurts. Deb always reacts with a yelp of prideful, painful surprise, like you would if you smashed your big toe on the top of a door frame: ouch, but, oh my god, you are so awesomely flexible.
Of course, if this show somehow did end up in theaters, but were reduced to two hours, it would seem, as Nina suggests, pretty damn silly. Also, how would it end? With Jane/Deb landing Deb’s old fiancé? I know we’re supposed to root for this, but I have a hard time swooning for the guy who fell for an idiot. When the show flashes back to Deb’s first meeting with him, I couldn’t understand what he liked about her, except that she was hot. Jane, and also a newly intelligent Deb, deserves better.
But before I go anointing television a better place to see rom-coms than the movie theater (though, another really good T.V. rom-com, that Sam praised earlier this year, and, much like Drop Dead Diva is a whole lot more charming than its plot synopsis might suggest, is Soapnet’s Being Erica—seriously, good stuff), I think it’s important to talk about expectations. We expect more from movies than we do from television, especially television that airs right before Army Wives. If The Ugly Truth were playing on basic cable, or rather, when The Ugly Truth is playing on cable, I will be excited to watch it. Perhaps it will be airing right after 27 Dresses but before How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. If so, I will happily waste six hours of my life. (It is possible watching romantic comedies on cable is like drinking diet soda? Most of the taste, none of the guilt?)
But, you know what? I kind of want to see The Ugly Truth in theaters, too. Jess wondered if there was a reason we keep paying to see mediocre films like The Ugly Truth, other than for a good old “hate watch.” But, honestly, I never go see a movie for a “hate watch,” or seeking an ironic, “it’s so bad it’s funny” viewing experience. I go for all the same reasons that I sometimes eat Twinkies and Dominoes and read Twilight and watch The Bachelorette: Sometimes bad taste tastes good!
I don’t go see lame, girl-hating romantic comedies in theaters just so I can knock them—I go see them because I don’t really care that they are bad. (Of course, if they suck as much as Ghosts of Girlfriends Past, which clocked in at about 95 percent suckage, I get very bitter. But the 60 percent suckage of The Proposal did not bother me at all. As bad as romantic comedies have been of late, to get to 90 percent suckage is still pretty rare). All I want from a stupid rom-com is, boy meets girl, boy and girl get complicated, boy and girl end up together, and, maybe, three real laughs, one well-realized scene, nothing hugely, overtly misogynistic or racist, and for both the boy and girl to be really attractive. Of course, I would prefer, hugely, for romantic comedies not to be stupid, but, well, I would also prefer for all bagels to taste like they were made in New York City. Sometimes, you just crave the carbs anyway.
And this (the bagel analogy!) is the real problem about the state of romantic comedies in film: Once upon a time, Hollywood mostly made New York City bagels, while television was churning out, like, microwaved bread in the shape of a donut. Recently, T.V. has learned a trick or two about making entertainment (and about making art), while movies have forgotten a trick or two about making entertainment that is art. If T.V. keeps getting better and better at romantic comedies, and films keep getting worse and worse, there will be some day, not so long from now, when even I get fed up with the stupidity and realize movies will never ever remember how to make bagels like they used to, and I will just have to watch The Philadelphia Story on my computer, before turning on the 60th episode of Drop Dead Diva. But that probably won't happen until after Love Happens, because I kind of want to see that.
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Last night I caught up on Drop Dead Diva, Lifetime’s new comedy about an aspiring Price Is Right model, Deb, who dies and returns to Earth in the body of an accomplished, but fat, trial lawyer, Jane. I agree, June, that credit for the show’s greatness goes wholly to Brooke Elliott, who plays Jane. Her walk alone is enough to bring me back for Episode 4. It’s also fun to watch the cameos unfold. You can just picture Rosie O’Donnell getting the script and calling her agent right then to say “A show starring a fat woman that’s not making fun of her? I’m in.” I wonder if a legal battle with Camryn Manheim is in Jane’s future.
Still, for all its fat acceptance, including a rather out-of-place courtroom sermon on the use of the word “fat”—an adjective that Kate Harding and members of the fat-o-sphere advocate reclaiming—Drop Dead Diva does have one irksome piece of character development: Jane’s weakness for donuts.
Admittedly, the whole soul vs. brain vs. body concept in the show is a little confusing: Jane has the voice, walk, and memories of her former bimbo self, but the appearance, life, and accumulated knowledge (without memory of gaining it) of Jane. We’re led to believe that Jane’s weight is in part a reflection of her lifestyle; even with the soul of a former workout queen, she just doesn’t have the energy to go for a run after a day at the office—much to the disappointment of her roommate, who seems intent on restoring her to Deb’s pre-body-swap weight.
But what about the donuts? What accounts for Jane’s longing stares at an out-of-reach plate of pastries, her need to indulge in morning sweets? The implication, I fear, is that her new, bigger body comes with a smaller dose of willpower—a disappointing step toward the stereotype that fat people are that way because they’re lazy or lack self control. (Just search for “lazy” in about any unmoderated comments section in an article on obesity and you’ll see this sentiment in its ugly glory.)
Perhaps I’m not giving the show’s writers enough credit: Maybe this is a deliberate statement that food cravings come from your brain (or, Jane’s brain), rather than your experiences or your soul (in this case, both Deb’s)—there are, in fact, studies to back that up. And that certainly was the message of my childhood favorite, The Man With Two Brains, in which Steve Martin falls in love with a disembodied brain, finds a sexy woman’s body to put it in (after killing her, of course), only to have the brain, which it turns out came from a fat woman, drive this new body to fatness. It’s OK—he loves her anyway!
Or maybe it’s not Jane’s brain responsible for the donut binges; maybe it’s Deb’s soul. Does this new body, and the revised expectations from the outside world it brings, finally allow Deb to eat the donuts she always wanted, but never allowed herself? Maybe, but that can't be all there is to it, since the pilot offers a few shots of Jane devouring donuts before the body swap.
The whole thing is tough for me to make sense of though, for the simple fact that I hate donuts. I just can’t see them as a worthy indulgence, no matter your weight. Hot fudge brownie sundaes though—that I get.
Photograph of a donut by Getty Images.
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Last night I caught up on Drop Dead Diva, Lifetime’s new comedy about an aspiring Price Is Right model, Deb, who dies and returns to Earth in the body of an accomplished, but fat, trial lawyer, Jane. I agree, June, that credit for the show’s greatness goes wholly to Brooke Elliott, who plays Jane. Her walk alone is enough to bring me back for Episode 4. It’s also fun to watch the cameos unfold. You can just picture Rosie O’Donnell getting the script and calling her agent right then to say “A show starring a fat woman that’s not making fun of her? I’m in.” I wonder if a legal battle with Camryn Manheim is in Jane’s future.
Still, for all its fat acceptance, including a rather out-of-place courtroom sermon on the use of the word “fat”—an adjective that Kate Harding and members of the fat-o-sphere advocate reclaiming—Drop Dead Diva does have one irksome piece of character development: Jane’s weakness for donuts.
Admittedly, the whole soul vs. brain vs. body concept in the show is a little confusing: Jane has the voice, walk, and memories of her former bimbo self, but the appearance, life, and accumulated knowledge (without memory of gaining it) of Jane. We’re led to believe that Jane’s weight is in part a reflection of her lifestyle; even with the soul of a former workout queen, she just doesn’t have the energy to go for a run after a day at the office—much to the disappointment of her roommate, who seems intent on restoring her to Deb’s pre-body-swap weight.
But what about the donuts? What accounts for Jane’s longing stares at an out-of-reach plate of pastries, her need to indulge in morning sweets? The implication, I fear, is that her new, bigger body comes with a smaller dose of willpower—a disappointing step toward the stereotype that fat people are that way because they’re lazy or lack self control. (Just search for “lazy” in about any unmoderated comments section in an article on obesity and you’ll see this sentiment in its ugly glory.)
Perhaps I’m not giving the show’s writers enough credit: Maybe this is a deliberate statement that food cravings come from your brain (or, Jane’s brain), rather than your experiences or your soul (in this case, both Deb’s)—there are, in fact, studies to back that up. And that certainly was the message of my childhood favorite, The Man With Two Brains, in which Steve Martin falls in love with a disembodied brain, finds a sexy woman’s body to put it in (after killing her, of course), only to have the brain, which it turns out came from a fat woman, drive this new body to fatness. It’s OK—he loves her anyway!
Or maybe it’s not Jane’s brain responsible for the donut binges; maybe it’s Deb’s soul. Does this new body, and the revised expectations from the outside world it brings, finally allow Deb to eat the donuts she always wanted, but never allowed herself? Maybe, but that can't be all there is to it, since the pilot offers a few shots of Jane devouring donuts before the body swap.
The whole thing is tough for me to make sense of though, for the simple fact that I hate donuts. I just can’t see them as a worthy indulgence, no matter your weight. Hot fudge brownie sundaes though—that I get.
Photograph of a donut by Getty Images.
