Every Sunday night for the past six weeks, a few dozen indie theatergoers have gathered at The Battle Ranch in Williamsburg to watch 3800 Elizabeth, a stage sitcom about a trio of thirtysomethings living in Brooklyn. Aaron Baker, the actor, filmmaker and Bushwick resident who created the show, said the impetus was to inspire a ritual that’s absent from the cultural zeitgeist: communal TV-watching. “It seems like people don’t make it a point to get together and sit in front of the TV at a particular time. So I wanted to give them a format they’re familiar with, and still get them out.”
It’s a novel idea. TV watching can be a fairly solipsistic experience, especially in New York, where sociability revolves more around happy hour than primetime. Friends may gossip endlessly about who Heidi Klum auf wiedersehen-ed on Project Runway, but they don’t actually meet up to watch the show. Well, some do. But for the most part, people watch TV while plopped on their couches, socializing only insofar as they are simultaneously chatting with buddies online—or fighting their annoying roommates for control of the remote. And besides, why get together with friends during the new episode of The Wire when you can just TiVo it to watch when you get home from the bar?
Of course, it’s difficult to replicate the act of watching TV without, well, a TV. But 3800 Elizabeth comes close. Like a typical sitcom, it opens in medias res before cutting to a theme song and opening credits, which are projected onto a white wall as the title sequence is acted out. There are even faux commercials—like an advertisement for a fake energy drink called Shabang, and a facetious “Find Religion” PSA—and cast bloopers at the end.
Unlike a real sitcom, 3800 Elizabeth doesn’t have a distinct narrative arc. It consists mostly of the three characters—a hypochondriac named Sonja, her Germanophile bartender roommate, AJ and AJ’s childhood friend Mike—engaging in circuitous conversations that serve little purpose other than filling up the show’s roughly 22 minutes of dialogue. Pointless? Sure. But Baker said that standard sitcom humor was something he wanted to avoid. “I’m mostly interested in humor that’s more absurd and weird,” he said.
At a recent performance, the “live studio audience”—a thirtysomething crowd that was refreshingly ordinary looking compared to the clown-like hipsters that overrun Williamsburg—was receptive to this idea. To say the least, people were laughing. And although this season of 3800 Elizabeth comes to an end on March 16, keep your eye on the guide: Baker said he’s mulling a season two.
Through March 16, The Battle Ranch, 111 Conselyea St. (betw. Skillman & Metropolitan Aves.), B’klyn; 8, free.
It’s a novel idea. TV watching can be a fairly solipsistic experience, especially in New York, where sociability revolves more around happy hour than primetime. Friends may gossip endlessly about who Heidi Klum auf wiedersehen-ed on Project Runway, but they don’t actually meet up to watch the show. Well, some do. But for the most part, people watch TV while plopped on their couches, socializing only insofar as they are simultaneously chatting with buddies online—or fighting their annoying roommates for control of the remote. And besides, why get together with friends during the new episode of The Wire when you can just TiVo it to watch when you get home from the bar?
Of course, it’s difficult to replicate the act of watching TV without, well, a TV. But 3800 Elizabeth comes close. Like a typical sitcom, it opens in medias res before cutting to a theme song and opening credits, which are projected onto a white wall as the title sequence is acted out. There are even faux commercials—like an advertisement for a fake energy drink called Shabang, and a facetious “Find Religion” PSA—and cast bloopers at the end.
Unlike a real sitcom, 3800 Elizabeth doesn’t have a distinct narrative arc. It consists mostly of the three characters—a hypochondriac named Sonja, her Germanophile bartender roommate, AJ and AJ’s childhood friend Mike—engaging in circuitous conversations that serve little purpose other than filling up the show’s roughly 22 minutes of dialogue. Pointless? Sure. But Baker said that standard sitcom humor was something he wanted to avoid. “I’m mostly interested in humor that’s more absurd and weird,” he said.
At a recent performance, the “live studio audience”—a thirtysomething crowd that was refreshingly ordinary looking compared to the clown-like hipsters that overrun Williamsburg—was receptive to this idea. To say the least, people were laughing. And although this season of 3800 Elizabeth comes to an end on March 16, keep your eye on the guide: Baker said he’s mulling a season two.
Through March 16, The Battle Ranch, 111 Conselyea St. (betw. Skillman & Metropolitan Aves.), B’klyn; 8, free.
