So why, exactly, aren't you watching Psych?
Okay, yes, the show gets consistently high ratings -- During its original 2006 premiere and later, during the USA Network's idea of a season in 2008 (6 episodes, then more followed later in the year), the show had an average of about 6.1 million viewers. And all this from a Friday show -- Psych, like Monk before, has had no trouble crafting its brand as a staple on the basic cable network.
Consistently, though, when attempting to find someone -- anyone -- who has watched this show, I come up completely alone. James Roday and Dule Hill -- genius actor/writers in their own right -- steal the entire thing from moment one to moment end. I won't bore you with the details, but here's the overview:
Hyper-observational, son-of-a-supercop Shawn Spencer uses his trained powers of observation to solve crimes. To do so and still continue to slack off as much as humanly possible, he tells everyone he's psychic. And it works.
Three seasons in, the show has featured such former heavy hitters as Corbin Bernsen, Justine Bateman, Rachel Leigh Cook, Don S. Davis (god rest his fat, bald b-rated TV soul), George Takei, The amazing Richard Kind, Tim Curry, Gina fucking Gershon, Lou Diamond Phillips -- Yes,Stand and Deliver Lou Diamond Phillips, Kevin Sorbo, and most recently, Cybill Shepherd and Ally Sheedy. That's leaving out a few.
That list reads like a who's-who of who-should-be-retired-by-now. And here's what's interesting: I think most of them are retired. Bernsen, playing Shawn's father and original mentor, plays onscreen like the crew won't get off of his damn lawn. Shepherd makes her occasional appearance as Shawn's semi-estranged mother. Even she plays it like she has something better to do with every moment she's on screen, but a fierce connection to Roday's character tells you they picked the right one for the job.
Dule Hill, Shawn's best friend and (more often than not) abuse lackey, takes to a role like a Weeble -- he just can't be knocked down. Hill's improvisational skills, along with Roday's and half of the rest of the cast, are off the charts. I get the sense each episode is about two pages long, reviewed the night before shooting, and mostly forgotten by the time the cameras are rolling.
And the show is better for it -- Roday and the rest of the writing crew is a virtual Pop-Crap Library of Alexandria, calling up references so obscure you'd probably need a Bachelor's degree in 20th century entertainment just to understand them all. The show itself, from the Creator-and-head-writer-written theme song to the extreme hijinks in post-show outtakes, knows exactly what it is. This thing is made by Pop culture whores, for Pop culture whores, andabout Pop culture whores.
Our generation is practically aching for a show that will speak to us like this one can, and yet nobody my age seems to even know what it is. I love it. Every Friday I wait for the show, and I'm consistently surprised with how well written it is. The few times the show actually tries to serious the whole experience up, Roday and Hill are there to remind us that the point is levity. Spencer the character, of course, can operate in no other way; the show, too, has no option but to just take it easy.
Urban Man Children: Just like us.
NOW that I've rambled on for about a billion hours on why this show is genius, get your ass over to Hulu and watch it. There are five or six episodes up, none of which require any sort of back story, other than this: The main character is any one of us between the ages of twenty-two and thirty, provided you have at least the cast of The Breakfast Club memorized. The rest is moot. By the time the show is over, you'll be hooked.
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