Community

I need things from my comedies. I need a constant bombardment of rapid-fire jokes. I need the interweaving of smugness and naiveté, cynicism and romanticism. I need the characters to bounce off each other in a million different wacky permutations. I need the characters to be interesting (sorry, Friends) but remain, if not likeable, tolerable (sorry, Arrested Development).

I need silly montages. I need wacky high jinks. Oh, and I need my comedy to be funny — that quality which, like “deliciousness,” is very personal and nearly indescribable.

And here saunters in Community, casually checking off every single great comedy requirement, and then tossing in Chevy Chase for the hell of it.

Jeff Winger (Joel McHale, the a-hole with a heart of gold) is a lawyer, the sort smart enough to get through school without knowing anything. His degree revoked, he finds himself forced to attend community college.

Spotting a pretty girl (Britta, played by Gillian Jacobson) he uses the ol’ “join my Spanish study group” trick to get a date with her.

Britta complies, but, devious girl that she is, invites other Spanish-challenged people to the study group. Among others, there’s Abed (Danny Pudi), the awkward Arab with Asperger’s, and a befuddled, out-of-touch, adorably racist senior citizen, Pierce (Chevy Chase, in the role he was born to play). And soon, well, soon you’ve got an ensemble.

There’s this wide swath of humor untapped in college comedies, beyond the wacky whirlwind of booze, babes and baccalaureates. These things called classes.

So far Community has maintained that satire better than most college shows.

Community college, after all, is a reverse of the Old School tagline: It’s all the fun of college… without the fun of college.

There’s the light mockery of college activism. (“Defy oppression. Have a brownie.”) There’s the Asian Spanish teacher, very defensive about the dissonance between his ethnic heritage and profession. There’s the Dead Poets Society-inspired accounting professor, who will pass you, but only if you can seize-the-day hard enough. And there’s the requisite crap-load of well-crafted lines.

“9/11 was like the 9/11 of the falafel industry,” Abed says.

“You’re an eight, which is a British 10,” the English-accented philosophy professor tells an attractive student.

“Ooh,” Pierce says as he pours himself a glass of whiskey, “Hemingway’s Lemonade.”

And there’s the show — one one-liner, one witticism after another. And Chevy Chase.

TIVO-WORHTY

The Venture Bros.
If you need proof of the impossible, of miracles, here it is: an Adult Swim show that is actually tolerable and even entertaining. What started as a dark, dark parody of ‘60s-era adventure series Johnny Quest morphed into an elaborately plotted absurdist world with David Bowie, of all people, as a super-villain. (Mondays, Cartoon Network, midnight)

Nip/Tuck
From all reports, this Ryan Murphy (Glee) show was, like many things, a lot like Michael Jackson. The rating-friendly tweaks — the rhinoplasty of character exaggeration and the endless tummy tucks of plot twists — made the show better at first, then worse, then creepy, horrible and inhuman. (Wednesdays, 10 pm, FX)

Lie to Me
Tim Roth knows you’re lying. He can see the way you hold your breath and move your eyes. And the way you cross your fingers behind your back? Dead giveaway. Yeah, yeah, Lie to Me is The Mentalist is Psych. But this season, Shawn Ryan joins the team. He’s the showrunner behind The Shield, the best drama television has seen. (Take that, The Wire.) (Mondays, 9 pm, Fox)