The Boondocks - Season 3 Premiere Review: "It's A Black President, Huey Freeman."

I’m not entirely sure how I got into watching The Boondocks. Indeed, there must have been some moment that compelled me to become an avid viewer, desperately waiting for my fix of Robert, Ruckus and even A Pimp Named Slickback. And what a long wait it was. See, before Sunday’s premiere, I had never seen an episode of The Boondocks on TV. No, it must have been because I jumped in on the craze quite late, sometime after the second season had finished airing, I think. Regardless, I opted to purchase the first two seasons on DVD, and watch the episodes back-to-back in maybe three sittings. It was, like most good shows, addicting. Funny, smart, and, most importantly, bold, I had increased respect for not only its creator, Aaron McGruder, but also the whole crew behind it.

And then I saw the series’ degree of inconsistency. Some episodes were fantastic, toying with ironic humor in ways that few cartoons could. Aaron McGruder had, at these moments, almost perfectly evolved the show from its comic book beginnings into a spectacular television show that, in many ways, was autobiographical in nature. But, at other times, the episodes simply fell flat, unfunny and uninspired, leading many to wrongly assess The Boondocks as nothing more than a patchwork of crude stereotypes. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

Regardless of some its strong outside-perceptions, The Boondocks was still a hit with both critics and viewers, spawning several a YouTube phenomenon. And thus, as its second season drew to a close, fans were eager for more. Unfortunately, “more” took quite a long time to come – over two years, in fact. Even with Mr. McGruder’s 140-character “explanations” on Twitter, I’m still not entirely sure what took so damn long. But, finally, The Boondocks is back, but is it, as the clichéd term goes, better than ever? No, not exactly, but, if the premiere was any indication, it’s still is the same show we know and love, minor problems included.

Upon hearing that The Boondocks’ third season would premier with an episode centered on the election of Barack Obama, I was kind of skeptical. On one hand, I realized the potential the show had with such subject matter. In fact, throughout much of the 2008 election season, I had wondered what The Boondocks’ take on the event would be. But then, as the gap between seasons two and three became even larger, the opportunity to place a relevant spin on the election was quickly slipping away.

My concerns need not have been so strong, though. Irony alone saved the show from appearing late to the party. In the end, I rather enjoyed the show’s take on 2008’s historic election season and, to be honest, they handled its presentation even better than I had expected.

The story, in essence, is told through a German-produced documentary, recounting the election of Barack Obama and those of Woodcrest’s attempts to either help or hinder his chances of reaching office. While not the most original method of exposition, the show handles the format fairly well, even if the narrator is a bit of an annoyance. The film-style allows for large gaps of time in between segments, and, as such, the show jumps from one date to the next rather freely, pushing closer and closer to Inauguration Day. Along the way, some of the show’s characters demonstrate their role in Woodcrest’s rather far-fetched connection to the Obama campaign by way of short interviews. Each, save for perhaps Huey, express the stereotypical views of some of 2008's stranger members, albeit it in a humorous and (mostly) exaggerated manner. There’s Riley, who seems to think that a black president will translate to zero homework and give him the liberty to “act the fool” (see: those who thought they would be exempt from taxes with Obama as commander in chief). There’s Robert, an alleged civil rights activist who claims that he paved the way for Obama’s election, even if he knows little of his actual policies. There’s Tom Dubois, an active campaigner almost in love with him, and his wife, who practically is in love with him (even though her husband is somewhat like Obama). Thugnificent has a pretty large role in the premiere as well, even though, five minutes into the episode, he didn’t even know who Obama was. Upon research, however, Thugnificent decides that, since Obama is popular, his acceptance of the candidate into his image will only make him even more popular. Thus, by the end of the episode, not only does the rapper don tighter clothes and a new tagline, but also a false appearance based merely on hopes of furthering his fame as a celebrity (he even joins will.i.am in the hilarious song “Dick Riding Obama”). There’s also Uncle Ruckus, who, predictably enough, is an extreme right-winger and absolutely livid at the thought of a black man and his “monkey family” in the same building that Truman called home.

And finally, there’s Huey, unable to fit into any of these peg holes. In more ways than one, Huey is Aaron McGruder, or at least the bearer of his political tendencies. When asked his views on Obama, Huey responds with an impartial “eh.” That’s after, of course, he takes the time to admit he’s no longer a domestic terrorist. “I’m retired.”

Huey doesn’t see Obama as a problem, but neither does he consider the man a solution to the ills of the United States. The fact that an African-American made it to the Oval office does nothing to excite him, and Huey’s not going to celebrate Obama simply because he can identify with his skin color. He’s merely another politician with an agenda and a couple of policies. Whereas all others understand Obama as a revolutionary, Huey knows that, in the end, these thoughts are simply irrational. And, because of his feelings, Huey is labeled and discriminated, and, resultantly, he feels even more out of place. To onlookers, he’s the same as Uncle Ruckus: a hater.

Towards the end of the episode, things shifts gears to the current day, and nearly all views on Barack have changed; people are disappointed that, really, everything’s still the same. Huey, as it seems, had the foresight, and was willing to accept that Obama may not be all that he was hyped up to be. Change, in Huey’s eyes, is not something that can come instantly, and is rather the result of a conscious and consistent effort, not one man. And, as predicted, life went on virtually unchanged with Obama in power.

So, with all that analysis, the season three premiere must have been fantastic, right? Well, not entirely. Sure, while the documentary lens granted some advantages and creative freedom, the character interactions didn’t seem personal enough, especially considering we’ve been without them for two years now. And, as well, some plot devices came off a bit silly, though these quips didn’t dramatically hurt the premiere. At the heart of almost every episode of The Boondocks, there’s a lesson to learn, and, though some are more pointed than others, each teaching finds subtle ways to reveal itself. Season three’s debut, on the other hand, was a little more deliberate with its meaning, though, in some ways, that was perhaps its biggest asset. 

RATING FOR THE BOONDOCKS-SEASON 3: It's a Black President, Huey Freeman (OUT OF 10)

The State of Television

Note: This week’s post will be shorter than the last 1,000 word+ epistle. Granted, it wasn’t that long, but I do want to write content that people will actually read. And, on the Internet, what people read is usually in a concise format. Anyway, without further introduction…

Contrary to what you may assume by my post title, television is not in ruins. Rather, it is entering a state of transition. Indeed, come May, mid-season shows will end. It’s just a matter of which ones are ending for good and those that are merely taking a break, only to return in 2011 with another season. Right now, however, let’s forget those shows that have been renewed; they will be discussed later. Really, what’s important, are the programs that will conclude indefinitely, a few marking the end of an era for TV.

If you follow me on Twitter (and *sarcasm,* who doesn’t?), you may have an idea of which series I’m talking about. Yes, 24 is one of them, and Lost is the other. Two phenomenal dramas that have had excellent runs and hoards of critical praise, and, save for notable exceptions from each series, both were consistent in quality throughout their eight- and six-season timespan. And, for any show, regardless of its genre, that’s an impressive amount of time to be on television. With such highly-competitive slots these days, most series will be lucky to move beyond eight episodes, let alone eight-seasons.

But it’s what these two shows brought to the television medium that was so significant; not just their substantial (and well-earned) airtime. They, in effect, raised standards for network television, demonstrating that channels other than HBO could sustain deep, story driven shows. The stale “case-of-the-week” format was scrapped in favor of a more engrossing story pattern that welcomed episodes that served solely to develop characters rather than the plot. And thus, greater connections were formed between the figures on-screen, and the families watching at home.  These characters mattered more because they were imperfect and, much like we do, had a history. A lesson wasn’t learned one week and then quickly forgotten in subsequent outings. Instead, choices mattered, and one had to deal with their action’s outcomes in future episodes of the season or series. In effect, a reward/punishment scenario could be created, one that thanked long-time viewers for tuning in each week, or scolded skippers with plot confusion. There was simply more incentive to start from the series’ beginning rather than jumping in on a work in progress. With more and more shows following in these early 2000’s debuts, serialized dramas flourished, and demonstrated their success in captivating audiences.

Other elements were reinvented, too, namely the impact of cliffhangers and how they came to be expected from gritty dramas. 24, in 2001, found itself pioneering these final moments on network TV, shockers that begged you to tune in next week, eager to see the implications of one single event. Granted, after a few episodes, viewers soon knew that after the final split-screen was shown, the scenes that followed could very well be the most significant event of the entire 43-minute show. But, especially in the earlier seasons, they never ceased to shock and leave an audience longing for continuation. As expected, viewers would speculate, whether alone or with friends, the possibilities for next week, strengthening the impact of the show even as it was off-air.

And these shows, film-like in the budget and scale, soon became made-for-DVD, sometimes surpassing sales of their studio-made counterparts. Audiences, unnervingly opposed to commercials and week-long waits to progress in the show's timeline, would simply (and ironically) look for the show to finish its run and then pick it up on DVD, watching it in its entirety in a couple of sittings. Some, including myself, still claim this to be the single best way to watch a serialized show. 

Now that two of the decade’s greatest shows have come to a close, what does that exactly mean for TV? Well, not as much as you’d think. Fandom aside, Lost and 24’s departure is not detrimental to the landscape of late-night dramas. In fact, they more than served their purpose, laying the much-needed groundwork for future shows to follow. Their contributions to the entertainment world are wholly visible, and, as such, never will be forgotten. Just as Lost and 24 did, new shows will come along and rework the formula, spawning intricate, innovative and complex devices that will beg for attention and acclaim.

And I just can’t wait.