by Adam Ferenz
When thirtysomething, because yes, originally, it was not capitalized, made its debut in 1987, the term yuppie was already known. Series such as Only Fools and Horses, and films like Wall Street and The Secret of My Success, both of which had just hit the screen, had been among the many works of fiction to popularize the term. Yet, this series, which ran for four seasons on ABC, from 1987-1991, was, perhaps more than anything, responsible for bringing the term to the forefront of popular culture. It is this fact, among others, which has often precluded it from landing on lists like this one.
Sometimes, the series is viewed as too concerned with the every day, the plots and stories too small, the characters too bound up in their foibles. Yet, it is because of that intense focus on the personal, the mundane, and the every day that the series stands out. In the era of Reagan, Iran Contra and the fading years of Dallas and the classic prime time soaps, here was a series that presented a new type of drama, focused on two advertising executives in Philadelphia, their families and their friends, a close knit circle that laughed, loved, cried, and, yes, whined, about everything from if they would land or keep an account, to what sort of parents they were, to selecting socks or disposable dishware.
Over the series four seasons, we saw people grow up, both together and apart, to learn to become better, more complete human beings, and in some cases, to become more entrenched in their selfishness, because this was a series unafraid to allow their characters to come across negatively. In my book, that is a big plus. This was not just for “villains” like Miles Drentell, the CEO of the company Michael and Elliot go to work for after their startup goes bust during the second season. This was true of every single character, male or female, young and old. This was a series that practically wallowed in their characters hiccups.
Storylines in the series often revolved around an inability to communicate clearly because of personal trepidation concerning public embarrassment. Just as often, they were about silly flights of fancy, often complete with fantasy sequences in which the actors played different characters, or, more often, the same characters in situations of heightened “dream” reality. This was something another ABC series of the time, Moonlighting, had done but not to the same level of achievement, because here, as unlike there, the fantasies served a purpose beyond being cute.
These were, after all, people who were all about selling an image of themselves. There was, therefore, something fake to begin with. Michael and Elliot were ad men. Elliot’s wife was a children’s book author. Michael’s wife, hope, was a journalist. Her friend, Ellyn, worked for City Hall. Michael’s cousin, Mellissa, was a photographer, while his best friend, Gary, was a teacher and a ladies man.
When Elliot’s wife, Nancy, develops ovarian cancer, the series takes a turn toward far more typical dramatic beats, yet delivers them in such achingly beautiful detail that it is no wonder the material holds up nearly thirty years later. In an era where everything is instant gratification, this was a series that redefined the term slow burn. It took years for Gary to stop womanizing and settle down. Then, as soon as he’d begun enjoying his new life, he died in a car accident, taking a book to a recovering Nancy.
Yet, as the series found itself nearing its end, the storylines accelerated during that last season. Michael quit his job and moved to D.C. to be with Hope at her new job. Elliot went to California to be with Nancy, while Mellissa tried to decide if she would give up photography. Ellyn, of course, in the show’s only truly stupid plot, was nearly date-raped by Michael and Elliot’s smarmy boss, Miles Dentrell, but forgave him his trespass, despite his obviously unhealthy fixation on her. This was not typical behavior for a series that was known for treating its female characters with a respect uncommon to many programs of the period. Gary’s girlfriend and child had to make their way without him.
Eventually, so did the audience, who had come to love these people, to expect to be let into their lives each week. No longer would there be moments between Michael and Hope, in their bedroom, talking, punctuated by the sounds of their child cooing, crying or otherwise making her presence known. It is remarkable that any series which luxuriated in the everyday the way this one did, could last beyond a season, let alone four seasons. For all the criticisms of these people being unrelatable, enough did for the series to weave a story of a group of friends finding their way through a pivotal period and learning that career success does not matter as much without being a successful person, and that sometimes there must be compromise, and sometimes one has to do what one has to do. The show did this with humor, heart and great intelligence, despite wandering into moments that veer toward navel gazing, a fact which should not dismiss the series from the pantheon of worthy programs.
