10 episodes of Weeds that paved the way for TV’s era of high-speed storytelling

[TMC]

http://www.avclub.com/article/10-epi...eed-sto-220920

Weeds, Showtime’s dark comedy about a single mother of two dealing pot in the suburbs, premiered in December 2005. At the time of its premiere, only nine states had passed laws legalizing medical marijuana use. Americans who thought marijuana should remain illegal outnumbered those in support of legalization by a two-to-one margin. Around the time Weeds ended its eight-season run in September 2012, nine more states and the District Of Columbia had since approved medical marijuana, while Colorado and Washington became the first states to legalize marijuana for recreational use. Public opinion on legalization evolved dramatically while Weeds was on the air. Anti-marijuana crusaders could no longer claim a majority supported their views. If there was still a national aversion to legalized pot, it was a slight one. The statistical difference between the pro- and anti-marijuana camps dropped to within the margin of error.

Television certainly played a role in shifting public attitudes about marijuana, lending momentum to legalization efforts just as the medium has done with countless other controversial issues. Weeds probably deserves the lion’s share of the credit for television’s role in reshaping the national discourse. The show’s success was transformative for Showtime, which, at the time Weeds sprouted, was struggling to gain a foothold in the pay-cable original programming market. HBO had a near monopoly on boundary-pushing original content, making the victory sweeter for Showtime after the network snapped up the pitch from creator Jenji Kohan that HBO reportedly passed on. Weeds went on to become the highest-rated original series in Showtime’s history and the first to generate considerable buzz and widespread critical acclaim. The show’s profile increased even more after its star, Mary-Louise Parker, nabbed a 2005 Golden Globe for Best Actress in a Comedy Series, beating out all four Desperate Housewives for the honor. Weeds was a major success in its early years, but not as a result of being true to its subject matter. To the extent the show helped shaped the legalization conversation, its influence can be attributed to how unrealistically it depicted attitudes towards marijuana.

Weeds follows Nancy Botwin (Parker) as she learns the business of drug trafficking, a means of supporting—and distracting herself from—her young sons Silas (Hunter Parrish) and Shane (Alexander Gould). Nancy builds her business and client base with the help of Doug Wilson (Kevin Nealon), who works as an accountant and city councilman whenever he’s not burning through his own ample kush supply. Doug’s fondness for cannabis facilitates a fast friendship with Nancy’s slacker brother-in-law Andy (Justin Kirk), who insists on taking a role in the Botwins’ lives after the death of his brother leaves Nancy a widow. In Weeds’ first season, Nancy dives headfirst into the world of marijuana commerce, which proves to be an especially seedy industry (to say nothing of the stems.) But she’s got some serious beginner’s luck. Her business is already thriving in the pilot, “You Can’t Miss The Bear,” as she delivers skunky baggies to her eager clientele of grade-school teachers and soccer moms.

Kohan initially set Nancy’s adventures in the fictional Los Angeles suburb of Agrestic, a town so remarkably permissive about marijuana use it borders on magical realism. Granted, California has been first out of the gate with most pro-marijuana initiatives, but Agrestic is so replete with stoners looking to score that Nancy’s biggest challenge is figuring out how to serve more of them. The widespread marijuana disapproval in the real world didn’t make it to Agrestic, where with a couple of exceptions, the citizens either smoke weed avidly or are indifferent to those who do. The specter of law enforcement looms over Nancy’s illegal enterprise, but politely so. At no point is there any real risk of Nancy being caught and jailed. Even when she becomes romantically involved with DEA agent Peter (Martin Donovan) and he finds out about her business, he declares her a small fish and says his agency is focused on higher value targets.

The only danger Nancy faces is from other dealers and distributors, most of whom are black and brown people who menace Nancy in order to force her out of—or deeper into—the life of crime. Kohan went on to create Orange Is The New Black using the vaguely racist template she established with Weeds: a well-to-do, white female protagonist is thrust into a world of swarthy degenerates, a world to which she doesn’t belong by virtue of her whiteness. Despite the surface similarity, Orange couldn’t be more different than Weeds. On the latter show, Kohan figured out how to create nuanced, dimensional non-white characters, as well as how to sustain the show’s quality over time. Weeds survived for eight seasons, but it was only creatively successful for two of those seasons, or at most, two and a half. Many of the show’s biggest fans would struggle to make a compelling argument in favor of seasons four, five, seven, and eight.

Weeds’ decline is foundational to the unflattering narrative around Showtime’s original programming. Conventional wisdom holds that a Showtime series is strong for one or possibly two seasons, then the network turns a once-vibrant show into a sad husk by renewing it season after season long past the show’s prime. That criticism was mostly true of Dexter, which arrived the following year and also sputtered through eight seasons. It’s also true of Nurse Jackie, which is about to conclude its seven-season run, and probably wouldn’t exist without Weeds. But even though Weeds was the basis for the unflattering Showtime narrative, the show doesn’t actually fit into it. Showtime suits weren’t responsible for the show’s creative decline. The blame falls squarely on Kohan and co-showrunner Roberto Benabib, who built the show for maximum speed, then cruised leisurely with no destination in mind. Weeds was a furiously paced show before furiously paced shows became the norm, and before American audiences were conditioned against assuming every television show was intended to be open-ended or run for 10 years.

Weeds was ahead of its time in more ways than one. It wasn’t just in front of the marijuana curve, it was in front of the storytelling curve. From Empire, to Scandal, to Homeland, to Game Of Thrones, to pretty much anything with Ryan Murphy’s name on it, today’s television audience has come to expect high-speed narratives full of twists and shocking rug-pulls. Though it was a half-hour comedy, Weeds was delivering the startling moments now expected of drama series, years before any of those shows premiered. Kohan made bold choices early and often, and while some of those choices paid off better than others, her biggest sin was her refusal to let Weeds settle into a rut, no matter how comfortable. (Not even Weeds’ lovely credit sequence, which features Malvina Reynolds’ “Little Boxes,” was safe from Kohan’s red pen.) The show faltered due to Kohan’s inability to stabilize the show after exploding its status quo, which she did at least once per season. But at its best, Weeds is an early example of the type of television show we now take for granted, shows with the no-brakes momentum of a nighttime soap and the writing, acting, and visual savvy of prestige fare.