Coffee at Luke's: An Unauthorized Gilmore Girls Gabfest (Smart Pop Series) (26 page)

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Authors: Jennifer Crusie,Leah Wilson

Tags: #Humor & Entertainment, #Television, #History & Criticism

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The clearest cinematic antecedent for Rory’s story is probably found in the ’30s films of Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland. There are some TV precedents from the ’50s and ’60s—show’s like
Life with Father
and
Ozzie and Harriet
—but those shows tend to be about adults who are raising kids, rather than about the kids themselves, and Rory Gilmore is nobody’s supporting character. (
Gidget
and
The Patty Duke Show
—which actually focus on teenage girls—are a bit closer to the mark, but they lie outside the scope of this examination.)
 
From the formidable Mickey Rooney oeuvre, we get the Andy Hardy films, beginning with
A Family Affair
in 1937 and probably best exemplified by
Love Finds Andy Hardy
in 1941. In Hardy’s hometown of Carvel we see a clear preview of Stars Hollow. Like Rory, Andy is a good kid from a good family in a good town. He’s allowed to make his own mistakes, but when his back is up against the wall he can always rely on his dad, kindly old Judge Hardy to help him find his way. Both Andy Hardy and Rory Gilmore are shown earnestly taking on a series of none-too-earth-shattering dilemmas, while a nurturing safety-net of loving adults stands nearby, letting the kids make their own way but always ready to rally to their support before things can get too bad. Andy Hardy had his very nuclear family at his back, while it takes the village of Stars Hollow to raise Rory Gilmore, but either way it’s a similarly charming and comforting fantasy of a safe and loving upbringing.
 
In our imaginary
Gilmore Girls
movie we cast Audrey Hepburn as Rory. This makes sense for chronological reasons, and because of the definite resemblance between Hepburn and Alexis Bledel, but perhaps the actress who best embodies the spirit of Rory Gilmore is Mickey Rooney’s frequent co-star, the young Judy Garland. Like Rory, the teenage Judy in most of her films is innocent but grounded, compassionate but clear-eyed, uncommonly gifted, pragmatic, and always willing to take on a challenge. Judy could organize the local kids to turn her uncle’s old barn into a venue for a Busby Berkeley-sized singing and dancing spectacular with the same élan that Rory would later display in preparing a business plan with Paris for econ class or organizing a DAR fundraiser for her grandmother.
 
The Miracle of Morgan’s Creek
 
In closing, let’s look at one film comedy that brings together all of the elements we’ve looked at so far:
The Miracle of Morgan’s Creek
(1944) by Preston Sturges.
 
Preston Sturges started out as a screenwriter and became probably the last great director of the screwball comedy era. Sturges was much more a satirist than his compatriots Hawks and Capra. He’s perhaps best remembered for
Sullivan’s Travels
(1941), starring Joel McCrea and Veronica Lake—a penetrating satire of Hollywood and its relationship to the real American culture in the waning days of the Great Depression.
 
The Miracle of Morgan’s Creek
is an even more biting social satire. It tells the story of Trudy Kockenlocker (the high school locker-room quality of the character’s last name is probably not at all accidental), played by Betty Hutton. Trudy, the respectable and perky daughter of the town constable, considers it her patriotic duty to entertain the soldiers who pass through town on their way to deployment overseas. But one night the entertainment gets a little out of hand, and Trudy wakes up the next morning married and pregnant. Her new husband has shipped out, and Trudy has no clear idea who he is. With the help of a local boy who’s had a secret crush on Trudy for years, she sets out to find her baby’s father. Hi-jinks, as they are wont to do, ensue.
 
There are obvious echoes between Trudy’s story and the story of the young Lorelai Gilmore. In addition, we have the wit and pacing of screwball comedy, as well as the upending of social mores. We have a small town inhabited by memorable character actors, and we have teenagers learning about life. The biggest difference between
Gilmore Girls
and
The Miracle of Morgan’s Creek
is that, in its own wartime way,
Morgan’s Creek
is actually the edgier of the two. Sturges was a satirist, and as such, he has his heroine’s dilemma grow precipitously throughout the movie—well before the end of the movie, the governor is taking a personal hand in the search for Trudy’s lost husband. Because of the Hays Code, Sturges couldn’t have Trudy just go out, get drunk, and get knocked up. Instead, Sturges goes to preposterous lengths to keep his screenplay morally correct. Contrary to all logic, Trudy is duly wedded before she is bedded, and her inconvenient loss of memory comes from an ill-timed knock on the head rather than an alcoholic fog. Sturges makes the setup to Trudy’s predicament so absurd that he’s actually mocking the Production Code in complying with it. Furthermore, Trudy’s scandalized hometown is neither as lovable nor as loving as Stars Hollow, and Trudy (whom you may have guessed by now is a bit of an air-head) could never have been played by Judy Garland or either of the Hepburns.
 
It’s interesting that the one film that comes the closest to the
Gilmore Girls
in overall theme and tone is one of the last and most cynical of the screwball comedies. No matter how modern it may often seem,
Gilmore Girls
actually hearkens back to Golden Age Hollywood innocence other similar shows can’t quite achieve. But there’s something remaining about Golden Age Hollywood romantic comedy that we can point to, and maybe even evoke, but never really recapture, even with
Gilmore Girls
. Maybe it’s not worth trying; we’ve come a long way since then, to a place where no one bats an eye at a Lane or a Michel. Still, if you’re looking for evidence that
Gilmore Girls
was created to try to recapture the spirit of the classic Hollywood comedy,
The Miracle of Morgan’s Creek
is an excellent place to start your search.
 
Chris McCubbin
has written more than twenty books, mostly about games (computer and otherwise). He’s a co-founder of and writer/editor with Incan Monkey God Studios. Chris lives in Austin, Texas, with his wife, Lynette Alcorn, and his dogs, Penny and Sammy.
 
 
References
 
A Family Affair.
dir. George B. Seitz. Perf. Lionel Barrymore, Mickey Rooney. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, 1937.
 
Bringing Up Baby.
dir. Howard Hawks. Perf. Katherine Hepburn, Cary Grant. RKO Radio Pictures, 1938.
 
It’s a Wonderful Life
. dir. Frank Capra. Perf. James Stewart, Donna Reed. Liberty Films, Inc., 1946.
 
Love Finds Andy Hardy.
dir. George B. Seitz. Perf. Mickey Rooney, Judy Garland, Lewis Stone. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, 1938.
 
Sabrina.
dir. Billy Wilder. Perf. Audrey Hepburn. Paramount Pictures, 1954.
 
The Miracle at Morgan’s Creek.
dir. Preston Sturges. Perf. Betty Hutton, Eddie Bracken. Paramount Pictures, 1944.
 
Carol Cooper
“Mama Don’t Preach”
 
Class, Culture, and Lorelai Gilmore as Bizarro-World Suffragette
 
KIRK: Your choice is unorthodox.
 
LORELAI: That’s because I’m not orthodox. I’m liberal with a touch of reform and a smidgen of
zippity-pow
! (“Just Like Gwen and Gavin,” 6-12)
 
 
 
Lorelai Gilmore does everything backward (if not in high heels), Carol Cooper says, making choices so inexplicable she must be part of Bizarro World. Then you look closer at Lorelai’s choices and they’re not so much bizarre as bold.
 
T
HE TELEVISION CHARACTER of Lorelai Gilmore is bright, pretty, funny, entrepreneurial, and a man-magnet. So why might the average girl viewer—perhaps already a fan of Beyoncé or Gwen Stefani—shy away from Lorelai Gilmore as a positive role model? Maybe it’s because she does everything backwards, like the denizens of Bizarro World, Superman’s loopy alternate universe. The whole premise of Lorelai’s saga is that (like Bizarro Lois Lane) Lorelai does the opposite of what more conventional or prudent modern women would do. And yet she survives and thrives on the decidedly mixed results.
 
Lorelai has unprotected sex when she shouldn’t; gets pregnant then decides neither to marry nor get rid of the child; abandons a background of wealth for blue-collar poverty; and postpones college for subsistence toil and single parenthood. Not the most practical or glamorous life choices in the world. But what makes Lorelai worth respecting as an unconventional heroine is her refusal to let questionable choices defeat or define her. As surreal as a fish on a bicycle, Lorelai serves as an object lesson for distaff America on how to triumph over bad luck (since she can’t seem to avoid it). You can almost hear her Bizarro war cry: “Freedom and privilege? Lorelai
hate
freedom and privilege. Me rather prove me am tough and independent by trading youth for more hard work and responsibility than me can handle! Lorelai not spoiled, me am liberated!” And by the standards of her own internal logic, this contrarian suffragette is absolutely right.
 
American feminists only had thirteen years to revel in the Supreme Court’s decision regarding
Roe v. Wade
before Madonna—up ’til then a veritable poster-child for sexual freedom and planned parenthood—released a hit single in 1986 which suggested that some young women might have to fight society as fiercely to
keep
their unplanned pregnancies as others had to fight for the legal right to terminate them. This perspective on the abortion option wasn’t new, but it certainly wasn’t a fashionable viewpoint in the liberal media of those times. So in the fall of 2000, when a new television show dared to explore the long-term results of the “pro-life” choice of an upper-class teen (who could have lost her cherry to “Papa Don’t Preach” on the car radio), Americans were once again asked to re-define our freedoms and our cost-versus-benefit lifestyles from a Second-Wave Feminist perspective.
 
The genius of
Gilmore Girls
is that it’s about class, it’s about small towns, it’s about Eastern Establishment snobbery, it’s about gender options, it’s about single-parent households,
and
it’s about mother-daughter relationships. Strangely, it all but ignores race. The racial issues are oddly skewed because the population of mythological Stars Hollow comprises mainly iconic white ethnics and just one Asian family—a New World Order demographic prefigured in
The Simpsons
and
King of the Hill
. Such token ethnic representation is ordinarily used to make even the quirkiest white protagonist seem relatively “normal,” even allowing them to appear racially unbiased because non-whites are not numerous enough to be seen as significant threats or competition. But on
Gilmore Girls
, racial and ethnic tokenism is a narrative decoy that permits deeper explorations of American class anxieties.
 
For example, Lorelai’s coworker Michel is a weirdly effeminate black Francophone male whose judgmental, superior attitude implies that bitchy egotism has neither color nor gender. Here he also functions as a status-seeking stand-in for every black character the show doesn’t include—plus every gay, big city, cosmopolitan or aggressive immigrant striver it chooses to exclude—all while being conveniently off-limits as a potential sex-object for Lorelai. Mrs. Kim, dictatorial mother of Rory’s Korean best friend Lane, uses her fanatic involvement in evangelical Christianity to elevate her status and opinions above those of lumpen Stars Hollow residents. But almost every denizen of Stars Hollow is shown being more aggressive about proving and defending some sort of pride in social position than Lorelai. Having already found the obligations of being born into “high society” somewhat hollow, she refuses to fall back into the trap of allowing her self-worth to be externally defined.
 
Sure, she works hard and goes to business school to improve herself, but it’s clear she does these things more for self-satisfaction than to score points with the world at large. The maverick drummer Lorelai marches to plays a distinctively Bohemian beat, freeing her from the lock-step moves needed to “keep up” with the middle and upper classes. Considering that Lorelai, likely intentionally, mirrors the public face of feminism in the U.S. (which has always been predominantly white and middle class) this abdication of classist priorities is a welcome but suspicious innovation. Can anyone who has tasted the advantages of rank honestly renounce them forever? It’s little wonder that her character provokes some derisive eye-rolling among involuntarily poor multi-ethnic single mothers. But it’s precisely the fairy-tale fantasy elements in Lorelai’s story that makes it so subversively entertaining.
 
Most contemporary “dramedies” display more mean-spirited and self-destructive interactions between key characters than
Gilmore Girls
does. Theirs is a far more genteel sort of dysfunctionality than previously made popular by
The Simpsons
or
Roseanne
, or
Married . . . with Children
. This is part of why this program sidelines most racial issues and disputes. The focus here is the feckless journey of Lorelai Gilmore through a picaresque world as improbably benign as possible. It helps that the show’s youthful stars are cast as lovable, lighthearted madcaps. No brooding, bitter, nascent sociopaths here to break the spell of the show’s blithe, yet oddly relentless, optimism. And yet what a change from the
Donna Reed/Leave It to Beaver/7
th
Heaven
model of suburban familyhood! Even paradigm-shifting programs like
All in the Family
and
Married . . . with Childre
n are not as different as
Gilmore Girls
in its central premise. An unwed mother had never been the narrative pivot of a hit TV show before. So this program, which celebrates a “disgraced” Connecticut Brahmin teen heiress who flees prep school to keep and raise her now-teenaged daughter while estranged from her own parents, remains a huge twist on tried-and-true television formulas.

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