If you’re the sort of person who cares about things like then, then you probably don’t need me to tell you that Dollhouse has been knocked off of Fox’s November sweeps lineup. If you aren’t the sort of person who cares about things like this, then you’re probably wondering what a dollhouse has to do with a fox while you subconsciously evaluate any of my previous blog entries to determine whether they give off an “anthropomorphic animal fetishist/pedophile vibe.”

If, by some miracle, you a) know that Dollhouse is the newest sci fi/action/drama by Joss Whedon (Buffy, Firefly, Dr. Horrible), b) haven’t heard of Dollhouse, but are always open for a good show to watch and/or c) aren’t now frantically searching the Internet for a photo of me to put up on posters at your children’s schools, then this post is for you.

As you may or may not know, “November sweeps” is, in a colloquial nutshell, when the Neilsen ratings board kicks it into fifth gear and, in effect, decides what shows are likely to be renewed (or, indeed, which are likely to finish their current seasons at all). Now, as Whedon has said himself, Dollhouse was never going to live or die on the sweeps. Much more likely Dollhouse is going to die in mid-season obscurity, only to be revived into a twisted, undead pseudo-life as a cult phenomenon on DVD. That is, unless we—O Dorks of the Internet—can band together and save it.

Well, “save it” might be a little melodramatic. Ideally, we can band together and save it from mid-season cancellation, which is a fate that should be reserved only for the most unwatchable pop culture dross. And Dollhouse is anything but unwatchable.

Comedian (and big ol’ pop culture nerd) Patton Oswalt said in a recent interview that television is currently going through a renaissance similar to the one film experienced in the seventies. And, for what my considerably less noteworthy opinion is worth, I agree entirely. On subscriber services like HBO especially, but also on the networks, we’re seeing not only a marked increase in the quality of writing, production and performances, but also an incredible maturation of theme. I honestly can’t name a film made in the past fifteen years that has the same psychological acuity of The Sopranos. In all of the thousands of hours of film and television I’ve watched, I have never seen anything—ever—with the deep sociological prescience and understanding of The Wire. Generation Kill demonstrated a more complex, nuanced view of the war in the Middle East than any film with similar themes (yes, even The Hurt Locker, which was excellent on its own merits). Deadwood was gritty American Shakespeare—a completely unique, fresh take on a genre that seemed doomed to endlessly derivative Sam Peckinpah worship. Arrested Development somehow managed to stay on the air for three seasons on a major network by making increasingly more esoteric jokes about its own meta-narrative. AMC’s Breaking Bad is loaded with moral ambiguity so rich and thick that you could, to quote Oswalt out of context, drizzle it over pancakes.

There are more, but all of these shows are destined, I think, to become the Serpico’s, the French Connection’s, the Taxi Driver’s  and the Chinatown’s of tomorrow. Well, except for Arrested Development, which is probably more of an Annie Hall. In their own way, all of those shows I mentioned are the kind of bold, important projects that will live on in our cultural memory and—no doubt—in hundreds of Masters’ theses. But...

But!

Dollhouse is not one of these shows.

[sound of a record being scraped against a needle]

“Oh shit but wa—what was he—oh God wh—where am I? Am I alive? Who’s the Prime Minister?”

Though you should take a moment to collect your blown mind, I do intend to address the statement that seems to run contrary to the original thesis of this post. No, Dollhouse is not one of the Great Shows. It does not have a universal appeal that will persist for years after its inevitably been cancelled. It’s a decidedly—proudly—niche little universe that Joss Whedon has created, and some of you will absolutely hate it. But I love it. And I do think it’s important, in its own way. And here’s why. 

Though the ’70s is the best decade to reference when describing some of the greater contemporary trends in television storytelling, Dollhouse owes much more to the ‘80s. Though rightly-derided for a many reasons, ‘80s culture allowed for the rise of the pulp films like no other decade before, the most notable of which are in the sci-fi and horror genres. The ‘80s gave us Blade Runner, the Road Warrior, Aliens, the Terminator and Robocop. Each one of these movies, while firmly bound by science fiction tradition, riffed on the genre in an interesting way. Blade Runner gave us a little existential crisis to go with our robot murder, The Road Warrior blended tropes of the American Western into its apocalyptic sci-fi milieu, and Aliens arguably remains the iconic vision for military-based sci fi to this day. Dollhouse, to get back on topic, does a lovely job of sneaking in some surprisingly thoughtful ruminations on the nature of identity between all of its witty dialogue, well-crafted characters and inventive sci-fi conceits.

For those of you unfamiliar with it, the premise of the show is that, if you have enough money, a group of people who run something called—surprise—the Dollhouse, will program a built-to-order human being for you to do with as you will for a few hours… or weeks. As you can imagine, the strength of the conceit rises and falls with each individual writer. When its good, Echo—the “doll” or “active” protagonist played by Eliza Dushku—is sent on “engagements” where the client’s needs could never be satisfied by a regular prostitute, bodyguard or really good friend, instead requiring some special skill or life experience specific to the task. When it’s great, as in season one’s high point “Man on the Street,” there’s a sad, subtle irony to Echo’s engagements with the powerfully needy, broken people who hire her. In that episode, a rich computer programmer (played by none other than Oswalt) hires Echo once per year to act out a scene that should have happened with his wife—if she hadn’t been killed in a car accident while she was coming to meet him.

What’s great about Dollhouse is that it never pauses to spell out these connections. It trusts the intelligence of its audience like no other show on a major network. In “Belle Chose,” a recent season two episode, a sociopath captures women using veterinary anesthetic and poses them like, well, dolls in eerily mundane tableaus in his basement. In one of the typical CSI-alike procedural-em-ups that dominate network television, the connection between this man’s disgusting actions and the actions of the Dollhouse would be explicated in a two-minute monologue. Dollhouse does the opposite. In the very same episode, we see the people who run the Dollhouse being protective of the dolls, refusing to carry out actions of unambiguous evil and, instead, carrying out actions of ambiguous good. Though Whedon can’t resist the clean narrative geometry that comes from having distinct “good” and “bad” guys throughout, he and his writers aren’t afraid to let the good guys be wrong sometimes, the bad guys be right others, and let the two camps constantly inbreed and shuffle about.

Just to put an exclamation point on why Dollhouse, while niche and a little bit inaccessible, is absolutely worth the right kind of person’s time, here’s a dialogue exchange where, afterward, I sat literally dumbfounded and astonished that I had just heard it on any major television network, let alone Fox. The scene takes place between Dr. Saunders (Amy Acker), a permanently “imprinted” (that’s what it’s called when they get custom personalities shoved in their brains), and Topher Brink (Fran Kranz), the genius “sociopath in a sweatervest” whose job it is to program the dolls.

After Saunders admits that she’s afraid to take back her original personality (even though its been offered to her) because that would imply, necessarily, killing the only “self” she has any familiarity with, she says:

“I’m not better than you. I’m just a series of excuses.”

“You’re human,” says Topher.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

It isn’t quite the moment in Blade Runner when Rutger Hauer, confronted with the fallibility of his own creator, is driven into a profound existential rage where he, in effect, chokes God to death, but it certainly echoes the theme. It’s been within the ambit of science fiction for some time to assume that in the not-so-distant future technology will give human beings Godlike power, and Whedon—like the very best of science fiction writers—has the curiosity, audacity and imagination to question how power like that will affect the people who choose—or are chosen—to use it. It’s dorky, pulpy, gloriously fun stuff, and there’s at least a little bit of it in every single episode—even the bad ones.

Oh, and there are bad ones.

I’ve spent a lot of time singing Dollhouse’s virtues in part because I’m trying to convince you to watch it, but also because I think it’s too easy to focus on its faults. Some writers can’t handle high concept sci-fi, and there are a few of them on Dollhouse’s staff. Fortunately season two hasn’t dipped quite as low as the worst episodes of season one (I’m looking at you, ridiculous pop singer episode), but there was still one or two that didn’t work for me. But even when the episode-to-episode plotting gets a little shaky, the higher-level intrigue and philosophy remains solid, and the crap is never quite laughably crappy. Some of it comes close, though (still looking at you, pop singer episode).

Amidst a sea of CSI spin- and knockoffs that rake in more than many countries’ GDP,  it’s actually kind of amazing that shows like Dollhouse still get made. Every time I watch an episode, I get that same feeling of disbelief usually reserved for Arrested Development:

Who would ever give someone money to make this? I wonder. And then I think: Oh yeah, Jesus. Jesus would give Joss Whedon money to make Dollhouse, because Jesus has really good taste. And he loves us. And hates CSI.

Contrary, I’m sure, to the opinions of some of Fox News’ commentators, I’m reasonably sure that Jesus is not currently employed by the Fox network, which makes Dollhouse’s existence all the more miraculous. And because divine intervention is officially off the table, it will take altogether more corporeal means to keep it from suffering an unjust fate. So write about it, dear FFWD readers. Blog about it, talk about it, tell your friends about it and please, please, God please watch it. And if someone you know participates in the Neilsen ratings who doesn’t seem likely to watch it, try to convince them to leave their transmitter thingie on while it shows (Sunday Friday nights!) or lie on their paper mail-ins. In the war on bad television, just as it is within the Dollhouse itself, there is no such thing as ethics.