Past Perfect

Many people wish for a time machine. Often, they long to return to the past, where things were more comfortable and reassuring. Most of all, they want to be young again, to have everyone who is important to them still alive and well. As much as that’s pure fantasy, though, one of the great joys of the fictional world is that it provides a similar, if vicarious, feeling. The desire for entertainment is far from new. Going back hundreds and even thousands of years, humanity utilized theater, opera, novels, and instrumental music to provide an outlet for people. It’s simply that we have so many more options available to us now, including one that wasn’t even possible for most of our species’ tenure on earth. I’m referring to the ability to read, watch, and listen to things that were created decades ago.

I can’t be my twenty-something self again, but I can turn on Friends any time I want and like magic the entire gang is in their twenties. I find that when I’m watching a favorite sitcom all the way through the series, I get a little melancholy as they age on screen, and typically get less funny, too. The beauty of it, however, is that any time I want to I can simply choose to go back to the beginning. Presto, gone are the gray hairs, the crows-feet, and the extra blubber around the middle. The kids are kids, the dogs are still living, and the adults are hovering around middle age, instead of looking old and tired.

Over time, we stop liking some TV shows and we embrace others. As a child, programs such as Mr. Ed, Green Acres, My Three Sons, and Hazel were on all the time. They eventually got crowded out by newer (at the time) fare that appealed to a larger audience. Even I Love Lucy and the Honeymooners have no permanent home on regular TV anymore, although at least Lucy can be streamed. Most of the shows I cling to now are from my adulthood, though I still regularly turn to the Odd Couple and All in the Family, staples of my youth. I’ll admit, however reluctantly, that it does freak me out a second when I realize that I’m older than the characters I used to think were ancient. I’m older than Archie Bunker, Oscar Madison and Felix Unger, and way older than Ralph Kramden during the run of the Classic 39. But for the most part, seeing them forever the same age is a positive. It’s undoubtedly one of the reasons why sitcoms remain popular for repeated viewings.

It’s not just TV, though. The Peanuts characters are forever seven years old (or five if you go back to the early years of the strip, before Charles Schulz aged them slightly). Mick Jagger sounds every bit the youthful rebel when he sings “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction” on the original recording. He always will. Every Christmas, Clarence saves George Bailey, and George’s friends help him save the Building & Loan. Naturally, this stuff works far better with entertainment that we take comfort in experiencing repeatedly. Some TV shows and movies are one and done, but classic movies, music, and especially sitcoms manage to remain relevant to us throughout a huge chunk of our lives.

I don’t expect that everyone feels this way, but the characters on my favorite shows and movies, and those in timeless collections like Peanuts, Bloom County, or Calvin & Hobbes, seem like real people that I know. They’re always there for me, and they keep me company. I’m comforted by their presence, in my DVD case, on a streaming platform, or inside the pages of a hardbound comic strip collection. They always act the way I expect them to, and they refuse to get with the modern world. I’m glad that Peanuts ended when it did because I never wanted to see Charlie Brown holding an iPhone, Lucy insulting someone on Instagram, or Marcie claiming to be nonbinary. I’m glad that the Kramdens don’t have a phone at all, nor a TV. It’s one reason that I despise so many “reboots.” Leave my pals exactly where they’re supposed to be. They act as my Dorian Gray even as I represent the painting in the attic.