The Crier

Meet Entourage’s Dorky Twin Brother

Even though HBO’s new series “Flight of the Conchords” is the best thing to happen to nerds since Weezer, it might not make it to season two

Matt Rosenberg · Cultured · Oct 02, 2007

HBO is known for its high quality dramas: Sopranos, Deadwood, The Wire, Rome, and the list of critically acclaimed hit series goes on. These are all serious shows that depend on loyal, week-to-week viewers. But, in the post-Sopranos age, HBO has made a push to broaden its horizon. HBO has become a much more versatile, experimental channel, taking risks with comedies like Entourage, Curb Your Enthusiasm, Extras and the strangest of them all, The Flight of the Conchords. Conchords is best understood as Entourage’s weird, awkward twin brother. While Vince, E, Drama and Turtle flirt with both gorgeous women and ultimate success in the glitz and glamour of LA, Bret McKenzie and Jemaine Clement, the stars of “Conchords” (who play fictional versions of themselves, similar to Sarah Silverman), strike out with girls and at gigs in the grit and grime of New York City.

While Entourage remains vain and pompous, Conchords thrives with self-parody and childlike innocence.

As power agent Ari Gold provides countless perfectly delivered one-line zingers, Murray Hewitt reads off three man roll calls at weekly band meetings in his office at the New Zealand consulate. While Entourage remains vain and pompous, Conchords thrives with self-parody and childlike innocence. The concept of the show is simple and the humor is natural. Two clueless musicians, “New Zealand’s fourth most popular folk-parody duo,” struggle to find an audience in New York. With a story that shows no sign of development, the show consists mainly of Brett and Jemaine’s misadventures in the city. They are accompanied by a colorful cast: Mel, their sole fan who is perhaps deranged, their band manager Murray Hewitt, and finally, their only friend Dave. Sprinkled amongst the half-hour show are their brief musical interludes varying in styles from reggae to hip-hop. Along with the funny accents and funny looking Jemaine, the songs are what you carry away. The duo will sing about anything from inner city pressure to sexing your future wife:

Girl tonight we’re gonna make love

You know how I know?

Because it’s Wednesday

And Wednesday night is the night that we usually make love

Tuesday night is the night that we usually go to your mother’s place and I teach her how to use the video machine again

But Wednesday night is the night that we make love

It’s when everything is just right

You’re not too tired from your afterwork social netball team practice

There’s nothing good on TV.

Mmmmm…

Conditions are perfect for making love.

The songs are accompanied by well produced videos (for an idea, check youtube) and are for the most part genius. They make for a fresh, light, childish tone that is extremely effective for Brett and Jemaine’s eccentric, David Brent /Marty DiBergi brand of humor.

But the show isn’t for everyone. It carves its own niche with its style and humor. The show can easily turn people off with its off-brand humor, which is as far from the humor of Entourage as you can find. Additionally, for the songs and gags to work, the show needs to carry a light, playful tone. Not always an easy task. The show ends up walking a fine line between appearing effortless and appearing forced. There are some missteps; sometimes the songs simply fall flat. Whether the show’s producers will be able to maintain its level of humor is doubtful. On top of this, without a developing story, fringe viewers don’t have an incentive to tune in week after week. As a result, the show becomes very disposable—more the stuff of youtube than television. It pains me to say that the show won’t succeed because it is a funny, warm show. Something that is rare on television today. Still, the pair have managed to put out an EP, and may be able to continue to develop their act as live performers. In an especially funny episode (Episode 4: “Yoko”), Brett and Jemaine perform a stationary-themed duet reflecting on the fragility and impermanence of life. The New Zealand pair could just as easily be describing their delightful but ultimately ephemeral show:

Lives are like retractable pencils

If you push them too hard they’re gonna break

And people are like paper dolls

Paper dolls and people, they’re a similar shape