Showtime offers a pair of summer series, alternately manic and depressive: One plays with inviting characters and lightning-fast comic repartee in the social nexus that is the urban barbershop; the other ponders soullessness and rampant self-medicating in affluent suburbs.
Mary-Louise Parker lights up “Weeds” while Omar Gooding (brother of Cuba Gooding Jr.) is the heart and scissors of “Barbershop.” Both are poised for intriguing 10-episode runs.
The comedy “Barbershop,” debuting at 8 p.m. Sunday. with replays Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, picks up where the movie franchise left off. Its built-in audience should be joined by newcomers.
The dramedy “Weeds,” which debuted last Sunday (now scheduled at 8:30 p.m. Sundays with replays Monday, Wednesday and Fridays at 8 p.m.), concerns a pot-dealing widow and mother, her family, friends, customers and the African-American family who are her suppliers. The culture clash is played for laughs, with some serious reflection between the lines.
At the shop on Chicago’s South Side, Calvin (Gooding) oversees a daily exchange of gossip, theories (lucid and crackpot), information and posturing. Sometimes it feels like dueling stand-ups doing shtick, sometimes it feels more organic to the story.
Calvin’s wife, played by Anna Brown, is manipulative but loyal. Barry Shabaka Henley is senior barber Eddie (the role originated by Cedric the Entertainer in the movie). Toni Trucks plays the foul-
mouthed female barber Terri, with “anger issues.” Rounding out the crew: A Nigerian immigrant expanding his English vocabulary to dirty sex talk, a cheesy local politician and walking punch line (Leslie Elliard), and a tough ex-con (Dan White), who is a distant in-law in need of a job.
Showtime partnered with Ice Cube as executive producer to adapt his movie for TV. Judging by the single episode available for preview, “Barbershop’s” well-cast array of tart personalities is pleasing. The humor is more mainstream than most of the supposedly “edgy” cable comedies vying to break ground lately.
In “Weeds,” Parker is the little plastic baggie that holds together the buds and stems of this uneven half-hour. Her airy presence is a relief. Without her, the made-for-cable profanity would burn out quickly and the comedic high would be even more fleeting.
This latest commentary on American suburbia is darker than “Desperate Housewives,” and even less nuanced. The 10-episode series from Jenji Kohan, sister of “Will & Grace” creator David Kohan, hints at unfulfilled promise. For now it rides on shock value.
While it specifically makes fun of the sameness of those upper-middle-class enclaves (the theme song is Malvina Reynolds’ 1960s anthem against homogenization, “Little Boxes”), “Weeds,” like the film “American Beauty,” more generally addresses the ticky-
tacky in the bankrupt American soul.
The series mocks the secrets of such communities: adultery, plastic surgery, homosexuality and OxyContin. Meanwhile, across town, a family of African-Americans led by Heylia James (Tonye Patano) are in some ways the more sympathetic criminals in the show’s constellation of users, dealers and suppliers, knowingly talking trash about the scared skinny white girl.
Parker excels as Nancy Botwin, the morally ambiguous mom coping with loss, bad finances and hypocrisy about illicit substances. Since her husband died suddenly, Nancy’s been filling orders from stoners at poker games and soccer practice. Her handbag may be a knockoff, but she’s got the requisite SUV – until she’s forced to hand over the keys as collateral.
Elizabeth Perkins is scary fun as Celia Hodes, berating her overweight young daughter, confronting her husband’s mistress, and behaving outrageously, drink in hand.
The male roles are weaker. Kevin Nealon is underused as Doug Wilson, regular pot customer and Nancy’s accountant, helping her launder the drug money. Justin Kirk, as Nancy’s irresponsible brother-in-law Andy, corrupts his nephews and tangles with the law.
In the first five episodes, “Weeds” vacillates distractingly between neo-sitcom and something more serious. It hasn’t quite found its rhythm.
TV critic Joanne Ostrow can be reached at 303-820-1830 or jostrow@denverpost.com.
