A rash of new domestic sitcoms seems to be spreading. Beginning
in 1997, when Everybody Loves Raymond premiered on
CBS, new successful shows of this type have been consistently
added to network line-ups, and they get more popular every
year. CBS has built a Monday night block of these male-centered
shows anchored by its oldest, and most successful, Everybody
Loves Raymond, that includes The King of Queens
(premiered 1998), Yes, Dear (2000), and Still Standing
(2002). They each build on the success of the other, wrapping
up the last television season, 2002-2003, in the top twenty
ABC has its own version of a domestic sitcom block that started
on Wednesday nights, but has broken it up a bit by moving
shows around to include Tuesday nights as well. According
to Jim has recently become the centerpiece of these shows
as it has consistently ascended the ratings scale since its
premiere in 2001, becoming ABC’s second-most watched sitcom,
according to TVTome.com. My Wife and Kids and The
George Lopez Show, also premiering in the 2001-2002 season,
round out the ABC version of domestic sitcoms featuring beleaguered
husbands as their stars.
Not only are these shows solid hits for their networks, they
are producing lucrative syndication deals and spawning even
more imitators for next season. In fact Everybody Loves
Raymond has been in syndication for a few years, The
King of Queens begins its syndicated run in September
2003, and My Wife and Kids has been bought for syndication
by ABC Family to be aired beginning in 2008. CBS is so worried
about the end of Everybody Loves Raymond that its star,
Ray Romano, got a $40 million deal for what he says is his
last season, and there is talk of a spin off series for its
other stars. Next season promises at least four more of these
shows on the traditionally dominant top three networks: Family
Show and Crazy Love on CBS, Married to the Kelly’s
on ABC, and Come to Papa on NBC.
What characterizes these shows as “these shows,” what I am
calling the new domestic sitcom, is that they are constituted
by a nuclear family centered around the man of the house.
In fact, the titles of all of the shows make the centrality
of the man explicit. They are about him. He gets most or
all of the good jokes, and even when the joke is on him, he
is in control of the language and the action so that he is
also always funny, not just laughed at. The conflict always
involves his relationship to someone in the family, usually
his demanding wife. It is resolved most often by his learning
some lesson from his wife that makes him a better man.
All of the shows depict traditional marriages with masculinity
and femininity performed in ideologically very conservative
ways, in a reversal of the ways families began to be depicted
in the 1980s and 1990s. He is the breadwinner, and she is
often a stay-at-home wife or works in an inconsequential job,
especially if the theme is working class life. Interestingly,
even though he is employed in all of these shows, he is almost
always shown at home, and the action centers on a conflict
in the domestic scene that will be resolved in the twenty-two
minutes of airtime. The persistent focus on him and the ways
in which he is besieged by domestic life—most often by the
demands made by his wife—is a symptom of a cultural moment
defined in part by a panic mixed with resentment over advances
in feminist politics over the past thirty years.
In a replay of what Nina Leibman has called the “domestic
melodrama” in her book, Living Room Lectures: The Fifties
Family in Film and Television, these new domestic sitcoms
are characterized by a gender system defined by domesticity.
The notion of domesticity in the 1950s is made familiar to
us most clearly through the sitcoms made then and ushered
into the canon of classic television today. They are the
shows still widely shown in syndication and on cable channels
like Father Knows Best, Ozzie and Harriett,
and Leave it to Beaver. They are among those categorized
by Leibman as domestic melodrama made between 1954-63. She
characterizes them as “those which revolve around middle-class
nuclear families living in suburbia and feature a professional
father and a full-time stay-at-home mother. Humor is found
in the interrelationships of family members.”
Today’s shows are remarkably similar, with crucial shifts
that respond to changes in the culture over the past forty
years—most notably the changes wrought by feminism, those
changes, one might suppose, in the relationships between men
and women, between the performances of masculinity and femininity.
According to Leibman, the formulas of the domestic melodramas
of the late 1950s and early 1960s were characterized by the
absolute centrality of the father to the functioning of the
family. He is “loving and stoic, deeply involved with his
children’s lives, attentive to their needs, and physically
The mother, on the other hand, is much less important to
the functioning of the family. She assumes a background,
devalued position. The woman characters “now held a questionable
position as the operative force in domestic life, wherein
they were expected to perform the necessary domestic duties
but continually upheld their husbands as more important.”
These shows, then, are defined by the wisdom of patriarchy
and the irrelevance of motherhood and, as a result of social
change, became much less common beginning in 1963 when they
began to be replaced by single-parent households or the blended
Brady family. Some supernatural sitcoms also surfaced that
addressed the challenges to dominant culture’s gender arrangements
in some indirect ways. For example, shows like Bewitched
and I Dream of Jeannie, which Susan Douglas reads in
her book Where the Girls Are, both acknowledge and
contain women’s emerging social and sexual power.
The feminist movement was a significant enough social movement
that it had to be addressed in a more direct way as well.
Bonnie Dow has documented well, in her book Prime-Time
Feminism, the ways in which sitcoms handled the social
changes that began to be felt in mainstream American life
by 1970. In her analysis of The Mary Tyler Moore Show,
One Day At A Time, Designing Women,
and Murphy Brown, Dow argues that network sitcoms not
only had to address the changes feminism was bringing to American
culture, the shows themselves were part of the larger conversation
that developed feminist ideas, expectations, and language.
Dow traces the trajectory of these shows (among many others
like Alice, Maude, Kate and Allie) and
their relationships to feminist discourses from the 1970s
through the early 1990s, from early feminist stirrings to
the mostly post-feminist politics by the late 1980s. At the
very least, these are shows that feature women as central
characters, and usually without men, or at least without men
defining their existences. But there were moments, and often
more than just moments, that seemed to offer real feminist
politics. Dow sees those moments most pronounced on Maude,
One Day at a Time, and Designing Women.
At the same time, these shows were mostly competing with
less political and more what she calls “lifestyle” or “individualist”
feminist discourses, those that made “women’s issues” personal
rather than political. This is to be expected on a network
sitcom whose purpose is to sell products and restore order
in twenty-two minutes. Even with such restrictions on the
exploration of radical ideas, many shows during this period
still dealt with the fact that gender relations were changing—in
seemingly significant ways.
While there is no going back to a pre-feminist past, by the
late 1980s the post-feminist future was here. According to
Dow, “post-feminist family television” depicted families
that featured women who had successfully integrated into the
professional world and had no real problems at home. The
idea was that feminist goals had been accomplished by women
working outside the home, with no need for any change within
a home or marriage.
The Cosby Show, Family Ties, and Growing
Pains are all shows in which the mothers work at professional
jobs, they are making choices in their lives, and their most
fulfilling choice is their family. They most appropriately
belong at home where they are the happiest. By this point,
we should also note, the single woman show was on the wane.
Post-feminism is defined by Dow, among many others (including
Susan Faludi most famously in Backlash), as the idea
that feminism has done its job. It acknowledges that feminism
has created some positive change in gender relations especially
in creating access to education and employment for women,
and now those opportunities are up to women’s individual choices.
It also tends to see feminism as having created confusion
and some level of misery for women and for men in terms of
Post-feminist ideology is behind a backlash against feminism,
which is blamed for all kinds of social ills, especially those
emanating from the disruptions of domestic gender arrangements.
The primary message coming from post-feminist ideology is
that women’s rightful place is in the home, while men’s rightful
place is at work, supporting the family.
In other words, even though feminism has created the idea
that women should be able to make choices about their lives,
especially regarding their careers, within the terms of post-feminism,
women are really happiest at home. Thus gender relationships
between men and women defined by domesticity remain intact.
In her book Unbending Gender, Joan Williams describes
domesticity as a gender system that structures masculinity
and femininity based on assumptions that it is natural for
men to go out into the world because they are more aggressive
and competitive whereas women belong in the home because they
are more nurturing and focused on relationships. It is a
system of organizing gender that is often argued to be on
the decline, but in Williams’ words, “Domesticity did not
die, it mutated.”
In the post-feminist shows of the late 1980s and early 1990s,
this ideology is clear. Equality in the public sphere is
a given, not really worth mentioning. But traditional assumptions
about the ways in which the private sphere should operate
remain intact. In Dow’s words, “Of course to achieve equality
in the private sphere would require further adjustment from
men, an issue mysteriously absent from post-feminist rhetoric.”
Combined with the powerful force of traditional domesticity
is what Dow calls “post-feminism’s most powerful framing device,”
the idea that “Patriarchy is gone and has been replaced by
choice… Finally the possibilities for happiness in a woman’s
work and personal life are a direct result of the choices
that she makes….In dismissing feminist ideology, post-feminism
also dismisses the fundamental insight of feminist ideology:
women operate within a sex/gender system that limits acceptable
This context defines the domestic sitcoms of the new millennium.
We are not back in the 1950s, but we are close. These sitcoms
are post-feminist plus in that they are relentless in their
pull back to traditional ideas of marriage, family, and the
performance of gender, framed by the assumption that women
choose these lives. The nod to feminism here—and at the same
time the threat posed by it—seems to show that the situation
is not resolved by the wisdom of the father—as it was in the
1950s (father knows best). Most often now, the wife is right.
And the conflict is often about the husband’s inability to
live up to the man she wants him to be. She now makes emotional
demands on him, demands he cannot seem to meet, this causes
a conflict, and it is resolved when he sees that she is right
and her wisdom wins. The domestic arrangement is structurally
untouched, but it is threatened by the newly demanding woman.
This situation makes him beleaguered.
The marriage is based on deeply embedded traditional ideas
of gender differences that assume, for example, that men are
less emotional, and certainly less emotionally literate, while
women are more tuned into emotions and rightfully do the emotional
work of the couple and family. Men are shown to be kind of
cute in their immaturity; it is part of their charm. The
women on these shows often mother their husbands. Women care
how they look, while men don’t (and women don’t care how their
men look either). In three of the shows, the husband is fat,
balding, not too attractive, while the wife is very skinny
and conventionally beautiful; often, a woman no longer needs
her own life or career outside of the home.
Another difference in today’s domestic sitcoms from those
in the 1950s-60s is that although most of the men have children,
they are not at all active fathers. The children are largely
absent on most of these shows so that the male character does
not function as a father so much as an often inept husband.
This is another move away from the wise father position.
The idea of equality here is that the husband/father figure
is exposed as not all-knowing, and his wife can challenge
him in gender-appropriate ways on gender-appropriate issues.
They can bicker openly, but he remains the center of the family.
This is most apparent in According to Jim, but true
in most of the shows. The writing formula is that Jim does
some childish, thoughtless, stupid thing, Cheryl gets mad,
they have a shouting match, and by the end he sees how right
she is and learns from her. A typical example is the fight
they have when Jim finds that he couldn’t do the “bad” thing,
the thing he wanted to do. So, in a very angry voice he says
You trusted me. And because I love you so much, I had
no choice but to live up to it. Damn it.
I’m sorry for making you a better person.
I hope you’re happy Cheryl. You took this wild animal
out of the jungle, put him in a cage and make him perform
tricks in your little suburban circus.
This breaks the tension a bit because she laughs at him and
Oh honey, I don’t know, but I think I may be a little
bit proud of you.
Yeah, you didn’t completely do the wrong thing tonight.
Whoa, whoa, whoa—wait a minute. I was half wrong. There’s
still hope for me.
According to Jim is the most transparent in its gender
arrangements that call on the wife to make the husband a real
grown up. But Everybody Loves Raymond, the granddaddy
of these shows, relies on a similar set up. Ray is a lovable,
if a bit dense, husband to Debra who is always the more competent
of the two. She is always teaching him how to behave, demanding
that he rise to the standards she knows he can attain. In
a typical episode, Ray lies to Debra, telling her he has a
very thoughtful Christmas gift for her, after being pressured
by her to give her a thoughtful gift. He has no idea what
she really wants, so, in a panic, he asks his brother’s girlfriend
what his wife might want.
Something that says, “Debra you mean so much to me, and
this makes me think of you.” So you got anything?
The girlfriend can’t think of anything, but Ray’s brother
knows exactly what Debra wants. Ray buys it, Debra is touched
deeply, and Ray is eventually found out. She is mad; they
fight. Ray delivers a speech:
I’m sorry. I stink at this. But it doesn’t mean I don’t
care about you. In fact, I wouldn’t lie half as much
if I didn’t.
Part of the wife’s job to make the husband a suitable companion
comes from the assumption that men and women are naturally
different. All of these sitcoms operate from that premise,
and then, obviously, reinscribe it. An example from The
King of Queens illustrates this very common ideological
imperative. Carrie has what her co-workers call her “work
husband” in Kurt, a gay man with whom she has a great time
in easy conversation, lots of laughs, sushi lunches, and fashion
dissing, none of which she shares with her husband Doug.
Doug gets jealous, but comes to appreciate what he has with
his “work wife” (his best friend at work, Deacon). We see
them together in a homoerotic fantasy montage that shows them
eating big sandwiches, tackling each other in football, and
drinking beer together tenderly. Still, Doug and Carrie continue
to fight about these other connections as they both get ready
for dueling dates with their work spouses. This is an illustrative
line from this episode’s obligatory screaming match.
It’s better this way. Now you don’t have to pretend
to care about things like sports and ground beef. And
I don’t have to pretend to care about your new shoes and
By the end of the episode, they have to sign mortgage papers
and decide to write a list of twenty things they each like
to see if they have enough in common to pay for a house together
over the next thirty years. Their lists are structured in
a predictably gendered way: sunsets vs. a new car smell, salsa
dancing vs. spaghettios, chamomile tea vs. porno. And although
they seem to have nothing in common, they decide to stay together
because what they have cannot, as Carrie wraps it up, “be
put on paper.”
All of these shows depend on this idea of a natural and oppositional
gender difference. This “natural” difference is the basic
ideology inherent in every script. As another example, we
can look to a typical exchange between Ray and Debra on Everybody
Loves Raymond. Ray does not want to go into an apartment
to an event that Debra says they have to go to out of obligation:
We could go spend some time alone.
Ray come on, we already had sex this week.
Wait, wait. First of all, that was nine days ago. Wait,
let’s just go to the mall and you can buy stuff and I’ll
walk behind you and call you pretty.
There is nothing at all liberated, feminist, or creative
in performing gender as the woman being the enforcer of social
decorum, the man as sex starved, the woman as indifferent
to sex, doing it as a favor to him, the woman caring more
about shopping, needing patronizing flattery. However, it
does seem to be a post-feminist move to have an exchange about
it, to negotiate it in relatively explicit ways. That oral
power seems to be the change brought by feminism. Women have
a voice men need to respect. Men need to see women as partners.
These demands give the couple something to fight about. Domesticity
remains firmly intact, but now there is bickering about it.
In Still Standing, one of those shows with the fat
husband and beautiful, skinny wife, a typical opening scene
sets the wife/mom up as a nag while the dad watches TV. She
hands him a list of things to do saying, “I’m sick of being
the only one who is responsible around here.” The next scene
shows the dad standing on the couch with a guitar playing
rock star. The primary plot in this episode involves the
parents trying to discipline their teenage daughter, who says
to her mother, “This house is like a prison.” The mother replies,
“Tell me about it. I’ve been stuck here for fifteen years,
and I still don’t know what I did wrong.”
Yes, Dear involves two couples who live under the
same roof—two sisters married men of different classes. The
middle-class husband, Greg, is the center of the show, and
most of the action revolves around all of the ways in which
he is beleaguered at home by his wife and his in-laws. The
marriage is based very much on the terms of domesticity.
In one episode as they discuss a new couch and he seems to
have no preference, he says, “I had opinions and then you
know what happened? I got married.” She replies with alarm,
“Oh my god, you’re right. I’m overbearing.” In another episode,
her job is to get him off the Vicks-Vapo-Rub that he has become
addicted to, through nagging.
The relationship between the men, Greg and his brother-in
law Jimmy, is the primary one on the show, and this formula
certainly fits the heteronormative centrality of men that
is foundational to all of these domestic sitcoms. As “traditional”
families, they are male dominated, and even though the primary
relationships are supposed to be heterosexual, men as the
center means men’s relationships are the most important and
central, and trump relationships with women. This male bonding
also allows another way to perform their beleaguered status
in domesticity through their alliance with each other, even
when fleeting. The idea that men (either alone or in pairs)
can’t get any peace at home is not a new one. But the explicit
fighting and complaining about it is new, and a post-feminist
idea that speaks to both the assumption that women are making
new demands on men, and that equality between the sexes makes
open fighting more fair.
Non-white shows follow the same patterns as their white counterparts.
My Wife and Kids is about an African American family
and The George Lopez Show is about a Chicano family.
Both are structured around a beleaguered father in a household
in which he can get no peace. A typical episode of My
Wife and Kids opens with the dad/husband trying to eat
a sandwich, but he cannot get away from the noise and chaos
of the kids. He says to his wife, who is standing behind
him folding clothes, that he longs to have some time alone
in the house so that he can sit on the couch naked, watch
basketball, and scratch.
The George Lopez Show features yet another beleaguered
father trying to keep his sanity among all the crazy women
he has to endure. He is married to another very skinny woman,
and his mother lives with him, along with the kids. In a
typical episode, he tries to send his daughter to private
school, but is worried about the money. His mother chimes
in, referring to his wife, “Miss America here is gonna have
to get a job.” This show is perhaps the most explicit in
its portrayal of a man besieged by women. In this case, his
wife is mostly supportive, and it is his mother who is a constant
source of unreasonable demands and insults. But the tone
of the show is that George has unending demands and responsibilities
to juggle as a result of the women in his life.
On both of these shows there are some references to racial
difference, but in terms of the domestic arrangement and the
performance of gender they are exactly like the other shows.
The father/husband gets almost all the jokes, the show is
named after him, he is central, and beleagued.
The egregiously conservative gender arrangements on these
shows both reflect and contribute to a perceived threat caused
by the choices women have in terms of their domestic lives.
Domestic arrangements are remarkably unchanged in the face
of feminist interventions made in other social institutions.
But there is a fear that women have more power, more choices,
and are thus more demanding, albeit in their irrational feminine
ways. This, despite the fact that the wives are, for the
most part, performed as incredibly supportive, conventional,
and committed to their families. Still, the men perform their
anxiety, irritation, and exhaustion in ways that make them
reluctant beneficiaries of their wives’ increased choices
and voices, and the men ultimately get to reinscribe the terms
of domesticity, heterosexuality, masculinity and femininity.
Additionally, these shows police the boundaries of heterosexuality
very carefully. Masculinity and femininity are easy to understand.
Perhaps one of their ideological functions at this cultural
moment is also to provide the clear line between heterosexual
identity and the increasing visibility of gay sensibilities
and identities on television. At a time when a show like
Will & Grace is an established hit, at a time when
shows like Queer Eye for the Straight Guy and Boy
Meets Boy created a buzz during the summer lull in programming
(those two shows have created their own queer block on Tuesdays—and
Bravo’s highest ratings ever), at a time when new sitcoms
like It’s All Relative are appearing, these throwbacks
to old-fashioned heteronormative domesticity provide the clear
lines necessary for queer shows to be embraced by straight
From Guest Contributor Jennifer Reed