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The Human Perspective of Sitcoms

Ever since realizing that I can never see from anybody’s eyes but mine, I’ve never been able to shake it off. I can be close to people, know them better than they know themselves, and put myself in their shoes. But I can only ever use my astigmatism-ridden eyes to see the world. And despite social media and portable 100-megapixel cameras offering us the world in crisp 4K quality, using your own eyes to look at something will always be a unique thing. It would be a very different conversation if humans and mobile phones achieve a state of singularity, but still, there will always be a difference between a digital interaction and actual experience. For one, seeing things is a non-stop ordeal of first-hand processing of information. Your sight is something special. For one, it allows you to watch sitcoms and my eyesight, poor as it is, gave me the blessing to watch Frasier and a scene in one of the last episodes of the whole series allowed me to re-examine my and the all sitcom’s collective viewership’s perspective on watching this particular kind of television media.

An old woman was asking Frasier for a favor in a scene set in the hallways of his condominium, the Elliot Bay Towers, and I realized that I was watching these two people. The camera was right in front of them, and it’s as if I was a neighbor who stumbled upon their conversation and shamelessly watched the whole thing. I probably wouldn’t have come to the same conclusion if I wasn’t so familiar with this show, but I am and I did. For a moment, I created a situation for me as the observer in my head: they are standing in front of me but they don’t notice me, so nothing is breaking my gaze at their exchange. That eureka moment was a weird one. In my head, I suddenly pictured the camera, instead of acting as my eyes to the show, suddenly focused on me, focused on Frasier and Opal, the old woman, while they were none the wiser. That fleeting feeling of strangeness, of becoming a metaphysical presence in a television show, stuck with me. It was like I was living in a different world, and for someone who consumes all kinds of media in all kinds of mediums, this was different. This is as close as I get in becoming a different human who sees other things. Even if that’s limited to the universe of Frasier. For a solid 20 seconds, I got the feeling that I was seeing through someone’s eyes.

It’s kind of funny to have that realization after watching the entirety of Frasier multiple times. Ever since then, though, I keep getting this feeling that there is a place for me as an unnamed, faceless character in Frasier. But, at this point, I was at a crossroads. Do I watch all 264 episodes again and tell myself that it’s simple camera work, or sitcoms are like this to simulate the human perspective? I was not ready to let this newfound awareness slip, so I watched the whole thing again. This is after I tell my girlfriend that this show is consuming every second of free time I get. This is when Frasier was coming first over exercising and finding a hobby. Whenever I can, I eat lunch and dinner in front of my computer. And when I feel like I need a change of scenery, I’d work at my kitchen table, which faces the living room television, and port Frasier there so I can watch it without break. I can’t really discount the possibility that I just needed to get a life.

So, there I go, watching Frasier live his new life in Seattle. And while I go through each episode, I feel like I’m being transported into each scene, with a seat always reserved to me in Café Nervosa where I can see the brothers Crane perform their arguments. In KACL, my place is the guest’s seat at Frasier’s side. I won’t say something trite like I felt as if I’m a part of this character’s life, or I’m somehow an invisible friend, but my familiarity with him and everything that happens and will ever happen in his 11 years in Seattle, it felt as if his dialogue is building a kind of image in my head. It’s as if in the process of seeing the man’s strengths and flaws, I see a real person. All this because I feel like I’m looking at him with my own two eyes, much like how I’m looking at a book or a magazine. Of course, I realize what Frasier really is: a television show that has little to no consequence in my life. Still, whenever I put it on, it’s like I’m physically facing a broad-shouldered psychiatrist with some infuriating issues. Frasier’s failures to have lasting romantic relationships, for one. It came to a point where I just skipped most of the embarrassing parts because it’s become rather grating than funny, like a friend who’s told me that he cannot stop fixating on someone's faults.

This is when I stopped and thought a little about how I’m reacting to this television show. Am I really so familiar with Frasier that it’s frustrating to see him fail? Have I become too invested in this thing that seeing Niles happy with Daphne is worth the dry, almost humorless exchanges they have as opposed to earlier seasons when their interactions were a riot? This was before I noticed, while Frasier’s elderly neighbor was asking for a favor, that I was seeing this show as if I was not seeing it through a screen. In sitcoms, there are no panning shots or anything that could be considered wide-scale angles. The camera is in front of the actors, just like how it would be if you were observing a group of people or you’re with a group of people. I suppose that was always the goal, to make the viewer part of the conversations. That very human perspective is why, sometimes, I just want to tell Frasier that it's Sherry knocking on the door and she’s about to ruin your dates on the episode, “Three Dates and a Breakup.”

But there’s no episode that made me flinch and laugh more than “An Affair to Forget,” like I was there to witness the ridiculousness of it all. The confrontation between Niles and Gunther is just too real. Much of the praise goes to the cameraman, who is not really doing his best work but attempting his best effort to catch everything in full frame. I say this because when Niles was swinging through the room using the chandelier, and the ceiling gave and debris followed Niles as his posterior hit the ground, my instinct is to hold out my hands as if I’ll be able to catch him. The camera swung faster so the scene captured ¾ of the screen, and that more than anything proved that I’m seeing this show as if I was there. It’s not magic, it’s not groundbreaking television. It’s just the ability to see a different world, if only for 20 minutes or so.

No other format of television shows provided me with the same realism. Perhaps, if I was looking for that experience, there are endless reality shows that tear away the curtain of make-believe. After all, they are real people doing supposedly real things. Still, the feeling like I could touch the fabric of Frasier’s suits is an altogether weird but welcoming change in the way I see this medium. Dead it may be, but what’s the harm living in Raymond’s living room or being one among Jerry Seinfeld’s audience. It’s the slice of American life that didn't cost me a thing.