In some respects it seems a tremendously cruel twist of fate that Ned Flanders, of all the fictional characters we had to choose from, became our cultural shorthand for the process by which a nuanced personally is slowly flattened into a flow-blown caricature. Hence we got "Flanderization", one of those irritating but I suppose intermittently handy buzz terms we can trace back to the route of all early-2010s internet evil, ie: TV Tropes. Looking at Ned's development toward the start of The Simpsons' run, he was a telling indication of the writers' willingness to avoid easy stereotypes and to make the character dynamics more fleshed out than first meets the eye. In the very beginning, it looked as though Ned might be an antagonist. When he was introduced in "Simpsons Roasting on an Open Fire" he was explicitly denounced by Homer as a "big show-off", and from what we had to go on that episode, you couldn't help but agree. He interjects at precisely two points in the story, on both occasions to rub Homer's nose in the inadequacy of the shoestring Christmas he's struggling to scrape together for his family. Ned isn't doing it on purpose, but he seems so wilfully oblivious to his neighbour's plight that his affability rings hollow. He comes off as rather a smarmy bastard, the kind of omnipresent thorn in your side you can always count on to show you up at everything you ever try by doing it better, and it must have been tempting for those early writers to keep him pigeonholed in that convenient character niche - someone we could easily hate, to increase our sympathy for Homer. Instead, they went a more challenging route and made Ned genuinely likeable. His only other prominent role in Season 1 was in "The Call of The Simpsons", where he sets events into motion by showing up at Evergreen Terrace with a flashy new RV, once again he stoking Homer's envy and feelings of inadequacy. This time the scales are tipped more in Ned's favour - Homer has no pressing need for an RV and only wants one to keep up with Ned, making his motivations a little more petty. Ned is also entirely pleasant and polite when confronted with the dented RV Homer is ultimately wheedled into buying by the A. Brooks-voiced cowboy; there's not even a hint of him snickering behind Homer's back. The real revelation, though, was in the following season's "Dead Putting Society" (7F08), which debuted on November 15th 1990 and gave us our first proper glimpse of life on the other side of the fence. As it turns out, Ned is not so oblivious to Homer's feelings. He's aware that Homer hates his guts and, deep down inside, we suspect that he's got his own lengthy list of grievances with Homer. Ned, however, has a steely determination to rise above it all and adhere to the teachings of Matthew 19:19, however challenging a neighbour Homer might be to love. It's the ingenious punchline to that early dynamic with Ned being this unbearably perfect neighbour - he's so unbearably perfect that Homer can't even resent him without casting himself as the bad guy.
"Dead Putting Society" cemented the all-defining trait of Ned being devoutly religious. This would become the nexus of his self-titled Flanderization, as he was used increasingly as a caricature of a prudish Christian. Given that the devoutly religious were a class whose feathers The Simpsons were always wont to ruffle, back when the very premise of this dysfunctional cartoon family was seen as shocking and radical, the representation they get through Ned here feels surprisingly non-spiteful - for now, Ned is just a regular guy with regular interests who is sincerely using his faith as a guide for being fairer to others, not to put himself above them. To a point, Ned is able to rationalise the aggravations of living next door to Homer as an ongoing test in turning the other cheek, but only to a point. He has his limits like any other person. A later episode, "Hurricane Neddy", would make the controversial assertion that Ned was incapable of expressing anger at all (a quirk rooted less in his faith than in his psychologically damaging upbringing), but we could see in "Dead Putting Society" that that blatantly isn't true. Jeff Martin's smart fable of deadlocked suburbanites is interested not only in how Ned brings out the worst in Homer, but also the extent to which Homer might do the same to Ned. It is ultimately a cautionary tale about the dangers of giving in to petty rivalries and choosing the path of enmity when it's blatantly in everyone's interests to just be friends. Ned is established as the party who should know better. Yet not even he can resist the constant temptation of Homer beckoning him to the dark side.
When I looked at "Bart's Dog Gets an F" a couple of months ago I noted that Homer was effectively the villain of that episode and how unusual that seemed, but come to think of it he's probably even worse here. Homer starts "Dead Putting Society" in a foul mood and pretty much stays that way for its entirety - at least in "Bart's Dog Gets an F" he was ultimately happy to see Santa's Little Helper succeed. What's more, he instigates ALL of the conflict in this story. What keeps Homer from coming off as too despicable is the underlying comprehension that his non-stop peevishness is but an expression of the vulnerability and wounded pride Ned invariably makes him feel. The bitter truth is that, while Homer's rudeness to Ned is in no way justified, there is a certain shameful level on which his disdain for Ned is entirely relatable and human. Sometimes the very worst people are those who put us in the shade by doing everything right, to the point that they can't even give us a valid reason to hate them (Lisa would face a similar dilemma with Allison in "Lisa's Rival", albeit with a more positive resolution). Homer openly expresses this vulnerability in precisely two scenes in "Dead Putting Society", but it's palpable all throughout.
The tragedy of it all is that if Homer could get past this knee-jerk defensiveness, he'd likely find that Ned is a very supportive and valuable person to have in his life. In the opening sequence, we find Ned making a conscious effort to be friends with Homer by offering him some practical help with gardening, which Homer instantly rebuffs. This over-the-fence stalemate has presumably characterised their relationship for quite some time; it's revealed here that Homer and Ned have been neighbours for eight years (this is consistent with what we were later shown in "Lisa's First Word", which had the Simpsons moving to Evergreen Terrace shortly before Lisa was born), and within that time Homer has apparently avoided ever setting foot inside the Flanders' homestead. On this occasion, Ned has more success by enticing him with the offer of ice-cold suds, and Homer is impressed to discover what a swanky rumpus room his neighbour has tucked away, complete with lager imported all the way from Holland. It doesn't take long for Homer's awe to give way to envy, however, particularly when he gets a first-row view of how much more heavenly things are in the Flanders abode compared to his own. "Dead Putting Society" marked our proper introduction to the Flanders unit; Todd was never far from his father's side in Season 1, but this is the debut showing of Maude and Rod. For now, Rod doesn't really matter - he's just a second Flanders child who shows up in the third act and gets no dialogue.[1] Maude's role is fairly minimal, but we see enough to get the idea that she and Ned have this wholesome and idyllic partnership. This also stokes Homer's envy, but for the lewdest possible reason - Maude's butt is apparently nicer than Marge's, an opinion he very explicitly and very unwisely voices to Ned. Todd is the one character who now seems nigh unrecognizable; in his early appearances, you can see how they were setting him up to be another anti-Bart, albeit in a less flamboyant and antagonistic way than Martin Prince. He's polite, obedient and genuinely respects his father, but he's also a normal, well-adjusted kid who gets along fine with Bart, as opposed to the warped reflection of an insular upbringing that he and Rod would eventually become.
Homer blows up with Ned about this perceived rubbing of his family's failings in his face, and in return is politely asked to leave. He remains so steamy about the incident into the early hours that he's unable to sleep; Marge patiently attempts to understand Homer's perspective, but opines that she's never seen Ned be anything less than a perfect neighbour. Homer knows this to be true, and feels this is precisely what makes him the real victim of this scenario; he'll never be able to compete with Ned. Meanwhile, on the other side of the fence Ned is also struggling to sleep. He's such a perfect neighbour that he's willing to shoulder responsibility for what happened with Homer, feeling he could have handled it better (in reality, he responded more graciously than most people would). This sequence actually does reveal a less admirable side of Ned's character, but it's one to which the Simpsons aren't privy - his tendency to treat Reverend Lovejoy as his personal 24/7 confessional. Ned is so fixated on doing the right thing, and so poised to reach out for Lovejoy's counsel whenever the slightest challenge comes his way that he seems to overlook the fact that Lovejoy is as human as everyone else, and is entitled to things like a private life and a decent night's sleep. Hence, he rings Lovejoy at Ridiculous O'clock to discuss a problem that absolutely could have waited until the morning (also disturbing Helen's sleep in the process). Lovejoy's own (more justified) dislike of Ned is something the series wouldn't fully delve into until the Oakley Weinstein era; for now, it's one of those smaller moments that doesn't add much in terms of plot but gives us a little extra flavour of Springfield as this vibrant community with all these additional dynamics going on beyond the Simpsons' walls. Ned's response is to extend Homer an olive branch in the form of a missive penned straight from the heart, but he makes the mistake of bearing his soul a little too candidly - Homer finds Ned's flowery, touchy-feely prose so hysterical that it becomes the centrepiece of the family's breakfast the following morning. Again, the Simpsons' reaction is an ugly one but alas, all-too-natural. Even Marge, who recognises that the family have no cause to sneer at the Flanders, has to sneak away to enjoy a private giggle.
Tensions between the two households (unalike in dignity) flare up again later that day, when Homer and Bart head to Sir Putt-A-Lot's for a round of miniature golf. (Homer makes the unusual move of voluntarily taking Maggie with them, although this sets up a running background gag where Maggie is continually neglected throughout the game, leaving her to wander the golf course and narrowly avoid being gruesomely injured several times over.) As chance would have it, Ned has also gone there for a game with Todd, who is quite the gifted young golfer. They pass a sign promoting an upcoming children's golfing tournament, which Bart and Todd both express an interest in entering. Homer spies an opportunity to get even with Ned - he might not personally be able to compete with Ned at anything, but perhaps he can indirectly one-up him by having the fruit of his loins beat the fruit of Ned's in a golfing contest.
Homer's outlandish declaration seems destined to backfire. For one thing, Bart clearly had no aspirations of actually winning that tournament - it's telling that while Todd immediately sets his sights on the $50 grand prize, Bart seems contented with the participation prize of a free balloon. It's not because he sucks at golf or anything. He got a score of 41 in his game with Homer, which is none too shabby (it works out to an average of 2.27 per hole), but that was all for shits and giggles. Bart doesn't see himself as much of a competitor, a view the collection of participation ribbons adorning his bedroom shelf would appear to confirm, and the awareness that he's being used as a dupe to settle someone else's petty grudges gives him little incentive to rise to the occasion. Homer attempts to give Bart additional training, a chunk of which amounts to conditioning Bart to loathe Todd as much as he loathes Ned. As if Homer's seething hatred of Ned ever gave him the edge in their (mostly) one-sided rivalry.
"Dead Putting Society" is your classic sins of the fathers story. The challenge facing the younger generation is to resist succumbing to the corruption that's making full-blown jackaninnies of their elders. And the kids are pretty much on their own in figuring this out; Marge spends much of the episode as in her despairing bystander mode; she calls out Homer for warping Bart's mind but otherwise doesn't intervene, and if anything she becomes complicit in Homer and Ned's escalating feud by acting as a witness to their wager, however grudging. Bart gets more practical support from Lisa, who helps him to hone his technique and to offset Homer's negative influence with an array of resources that play to her own strengths: geometry (Bart is amazed to discover that it can be applied to the real world), The Tao-Te Ching by Lao-Tzu and a selection of Buddhist proverbs. This is a Homer/Bart episode foremost, but we also get some really lovely peeks into Lisa's lower-key world - her interactions with her "gang" at the local library and her melancholic observation that maybe it's a blessing after all that Homer can't relate to anything she does. (We saw first-hand evidence of that earlier, when Lisa chose to sit out the mini golf so that she could study for an upcoming math contest, which led to this beautiful exchange: "If I win I'll bring home a new protractor!", "Too bad we don't live on a farm...") It's also a nice testament to how far the Simpsons siblings will go to back one another up. As a bonus, Lisa's training montage contains the episode's strangest and single most unsettling moment - a random non-speaking cameo from Krusty, who is conspicuously not wearing clown makeup. At this point the production team were clearly undecided on whether Krusty should retain his circus guise when out in public, and it doesn't surprise me that they ultimately ruled to make him a clown full-time - he looks a fair bit meaner and honestly a whole lot uncannier as a regular guy.
As Bart strives for Nirvana, Homer sinks ever further into the pit of despair, and things get even juicier when he finally manages to drag Ned down with him. Already on thin ice, Homer puts his pride on the line even further by goading Ned into making a bet with him over the outcome of the tournament. Tired of Homer's constant antagonism, Ned takes the bait, and proposes a batch of Marge's blueberry muffins against one of Maude's homemade wind chimes. (This clearly meant to be a sissy bet, but it's actually kind of dickish if you think about it; this animosity is purely between the husbands, so why should the wives do all the work?) Homer suggests they make a REAL bet, and before long things have escalated to the point where the loser has to mow the other's lawn (Ned notes that Homer would have to decent job of it for a change, betraying that his earlier offer of assistance was rooted in the observation that Homer is shit at gardening). The cap-it-all penalty of the loser having to mow the other's lawn in drag is the one element that admittedly seems rather groan-worthy now (heck, they admit on the DVD commentary that it was dated even in 1990), but it sufficiently captures just how senseless and childish their feud is becoming. The possibility that there might be a third child somewhere in Springfield who could give both Bart and Todd a run for their money never occurs to them - conveniently, it never does come up in the plot, but this is further indication of their ever-growing self-absorption, now that the tournament's very existence has devolved into a personal pissing contest for their respective clans. Ned still has enough of his dignity in intact to stipulate that the losing child should be described in gentler terms as "the boy who doesn't win" in their contract; he also sorely regrets his decision the instant he gets away from Homer (as per the DVD commentary, the script originally had an additional scene where he once again harasses Reverend Lovejoy for guidance, but that will have to be left to our imaginations). Homer likewise expresses some regret; having once again failed to bring out Bart's best golfing form, we cut to a scene where he's picking out dresses from Marge's wardrobe and resignedly asks for her opinion on which of them would look best on him. It's a small moment, but a revealing one, being the sole point in the episode in which you can really get in a smidgen of sympathy for Homer. He absolutely dug his own grave on this on, but not even he's oblivious to that fact. (Actually, I'm surprised that Marge would have anything in her wardrobe that would even fit Homer, except maybe her pregnancy gear.)
"Dead Putting Society" is another of those earlier Simpsons episodes that succeeds in turning a puny molehill into a staggering mountain. It's a fairly modest scenario in which nothing overly dramatic happens, and yet by the end you feel the weight of all the generational trauma that's hanging on this silly game of kiddie golf, juxtaposed incongruously with the assortment of chintzy animatronics that accompany each hole. Similar to "Dancin' Homer", there's humor in the very absurdity that something so trivial would be treated as such serious business, not just within the context of Ned and Homer's grudge match, but to the town as a whole. The tournament is a lavish affair, complete with an over-enthusiastic British-accented commentator who insists on treating this local children's contest as if it were the most riveting thing he's ever seen. (I didn't notice this until it was pointed out on the DVD commentary, but the other commentator who never gets a word in is the father of Eugene Fisk, who appeared at the bachelor party in "Homer's Night Out".) What has the townspeople so transfixed by watching these children putt is what we also suspect to be the root cause of all evil in this story - the terminal boredom of suburban living. Characters come to hate one another because they're stuck together, they inevitably get on one another's nerves, and they need something to even out the vapidity. Hatred serves no purpose other than to compensate for life's disappointments; as Homer explains to Marge in the only other scene where he makes his vulnerability all too stark: "Sometimes the only way you can feel good about yourself is by making someone else look bad. And I'm tired of making other people feel good about themselves." This kind of hatred is shown to be an exclusively adult thing - Bart and Todd seem naturally disinclined to it, even with their parents so wildly at one another's throats. Their lives are still mostly ahead of them, and they've yet to be whittled down by the same deluge of accumulated cynicism, although their parents might give them a head start with the run-off from their own. We might question why Ned is ultimately as susceptible as Homer when he's living the dream life, with his fancy Dutch beer and his adoring son. But then fate did stick one bum card into his otherwise ace hand, by lumbering him with Homer as a next door neighbour. Proximity to Homer is a bugbear he contends with on a daily basis, and it's finally reached the breaking point where he's allowed this to overshadow everything the world has going for him.
We don't get a lot of insight into the possible knock-on effects on
the Flanders' dynamics. This is something the script might
have expanded on a little, by having Maude weigh in on what a cracked,
hardened exterior her beloved sponge cake is acquiring (her input is
instead restricted to a single aghast reaction during one of Homer and
Ned's heckling matches at the tournament) and signs of Ned putting
increased pressure on Todd during his own training. Still, we get a succinct
enough glimpse into Ned's descent into darkness, and it is genuinely
starting. This is the man who'd once enthusiastically received the advice that a
gentle answer turneth away wrath, and now he's feeding his child the completely
contrary message that mercy is for the weak. That's about as ugly as Ned's bile gets - he doesn't spew anything quite as flagrantly inappropriate as Homer's threat (in the alleged words of American football coach Vince Lombardi) to disown Bart if he loses - but we can tell, even with the limited time we've spent getting to know him thus far, that he is behaving in a way that's egregiously out of character. And yet it comes so very naturally to him. With Homer's help, he's tapped into the latent toxins lurking deep within his soul. Such behaviour would be largely inconceivable to Ned post-Season 3, of course, but perhaps we ought to regard that as the later seasons' loss? Because Ned certainly feels real here - a man with the very best of ideals and intentions who can be momentarily led astray with the right provocation. It may not be pretty, but he's taken his place with the rest of humanity, with all of its messy and irrational tendencies.
The adults, then, are the ones who behave like kids, while the actual kids are shouldered with the responsibility of having to find a better solution. And find a better solution they do. Come the tournament, the two budding golfers play a close game, and on the final hole end up in a situation where it could easily go either way. Bart and Todd both decide that they've got nothing more to prove and agree to call it a draw. The British announcer declares this the most stirring display of gallantry and sportsmanship since Mountbatten gave Egypt back to the Punjabis. He clearly doesn't speak for everyone, however. If you pay attention, you'll notice how the spectators departing as Bart and Todd receive their $25 checks are shooting the boys incredibly dirty looks, as though they're bitterly disappointed that these two 10-year-olds couldn't see their match out to the finish. Maybe they had bets of their own riding on the outcome. Or maybe the prospect of learning who was the better putter out of Bart and Todd was really the most exciting item on their agenda that day. There we have it, the terminal boredom of suburban living.
The ending of "Dead Putting Society" is at once wildly optimistic and deeply cynical. Bart and Todd might not win the game, but they come out as victors through not being tainted by their parents' rancour. At the same time, it seems that the adults might be too far gone to reverse their own debasement, or at least one of them is. Ned is prepared to follow Todd and Bart's example and suggest that he and Homer finally put aside their differences, but Homer isn't having any of it. He's got Ned on a technicality - since neither boy won the tournament, as per the terms of their contract they are now BOTH obligated to mow the other's lawn in their wife's Sunday dress. Obviously Homer is being unreasonable here. The opportunity is right there for the two feuding neighbours to laugh it off, agree they've been foolish and make a renewed effort to be friends going forward. Yet he insists on the path of malice and demands his pound of flesh. Ned points out that this maybe isn't in Homer's interests, since he would have to do it too; Homer coolly responds that he could bear the humiliation. If he can't actually elevate himself above Ned then he'll readily settle for dragging him down along with him. This all backfires on Homer (and quite rightly so), since it's Ned who has the last laugh - by laughing at himself. He's able to see the funny side, admitting that it reminds him of the cross-dressing hi-jinks he got up to in his frat boy days, thus robbing Homer of whatever satisfaction he might have gleaned from the experience. Ned has the right idea. After all, he and Homer didn't need to get dressed up and mow one another's lawns to make an exhibition of themselves - they already did that quite wilfully with their behaviour at the tournament. Everything that comes after is but a curtain call, and the healthiest option is to embrace the humbling with a little gentle humor, rather than let it fester for a further round. Better than letting your pride get dented is often just to let your pride go altogether. Meanwhile, on the sidelines, Lisa makes yet another of her melancholic observations: "Why do I get the feeling that someday I'll be describing this to a psychiatrist?" The situation she's applying it to maybe didn't age so gracefully, but the line itself is immortal.
As we've observed, this is a cautionary tale. It has a very clear message. Love thy neighbour. Don't be a jackaninny.
[1] Why yes, I do regret that I didn't pick an episode with a prominent role for one of Pamela Hayden's characters to go with her recent bombshell announcement.
No comments:
Post a Comment