Consider Valerie Cherish, the perennially desperate-to-be-seen, desperate-to-be-loved Hollywood C-lister played by Lisa Kudrow. Valerie, bless her, reenters our collective lives once every decade, like the census.
And like the census, her return always assumes the form of an appraisal, a ruthless and clear-eyed taking of stock. In The Comeback's original 2005 season, Valerie donned a cupcake costume and pratfalled her way through the rise of reality television, starring in both a corny sitcom and its making-of documentary. In 2014, a second season found Valerie headlining a prestige HBO series about that sitcom, auguring the fusillade of high-end, self-satisfied streaming dramedies that were about to pummel an unsuspecting populace into submission.
In this third season, she's still out here hustling. Sure, she's got an Emmy under her belt, and she's been booked and busy, but there are signs of trouble — she and her husband (Damian Young) have downsized from their Brentwood mansion to a West Hollywood apartment. Her publicist-turned-manager (Dan Bucatinsky) seems even more checked out than baseline. She's hired a social media consultant (Ella Stiller) and has even started (ominous chord, shudder) … a podcast.
As we meet her, she's older, wiser but still essentially Valerie: Blithely optimistic, hungrily opportunistic. She's still desperate for attention — but the precise nature of the attention she's craving these days has subtly but significantly shifted. It's no longer enough for Valerie to be seen; now, she wants — expects, demands, even — to be heard.
She remains ridiculous, thank God. And Kudrow once again imbues her with the physicality that has come to define Valerie's essential self: She's still going through life nodding like a bobblehead, still punctuating just about every sentence with a "right?" or a "yeah?" or a "y'know?," because it's a learned response. If the world refuses to affirm her in any way — and somehow it continues to find endlessly novel ways to do just that — then she'll just affirm her own darn self, yeah? Right?
But something happens in the first episode of the new season that efficiently signals how much has changed for Valerie. The setup is classic The Comeback: She's agreed to star as Roxie in Chicago on Broadway (after receiving assurances that her choreo will be the "dumbed down, Real Housewives version"). Rehearsal isn't going great — her director and fellow dancers are mean, catty and dismissive (apart from one gay guy, whose words of praise Valerie seeks out like a homing missile — which checks out).
What happens next is quietly remarkable, given the Valerie Cherish we've come to love/cringe-in-sympathy-with over The Comeback's previous seasons. She doesn't chirpily ignore their insults and blithely soldier on. She doesn't try to excuse and minimize their bad behavior so she can take advantage of the opportunity they're affording her. No, she calls them out, and she quits. (More accurately: She finds a ready, contractually viable excuse to quit — same difference, I'd argue.)
This isn't the Valerie we used to know. When an opportunity to star in an AI-written sitcom arises, she doesn't knock over furniture to lunge at the chance, as she would have before. She refuses (at first), she seeks assurances that actual writers will be involved (they will, sort of), and she steps up as the show's executive producer as soon as it becomes clear she's the only one involved who cares about the cast, the crew and the quality of the show itself.
There remain plenty of opportunities for Kudrow to make us laugh at Valerie, but as the season progresses, we find ourselves rooting for her more than ever. That's because Kudrow has altered Valerie's fuel mixture a bit. She's always been acutely self-aware, she's always known when she's being disrespected, but the Valerie of seasons one and two was perfectly content to swallow other people's low opinions of her if it meant she got some time in the spotlight.
Now, that self-awareness is matched to something besides her default, pathologically sunny perseverance; it's married to defiance, and to action.
She stands her ground against a costume designer (Benito Skinner) who sees her as camp and nothing more (yet another of The Comeback's knowing digs at its rabid gay fanbase). She agrees to play nice with a network executive (Andrew Scott) until she, very publicly, doesn't. And when her dour husband starts flailing on his own reality show, Valerie draws on her vast reserves of experience on both sides of the camera to show him how it's done.
But a self-actualized Valerie affects the show's comedic chemistry, and there are times when the season can't quite manage to sustain its satiric bite. On two occasions, the show's pitched disdain for Hollywood phoniness and hollow ambition falters, and something akin to sincerity peeks out from behind the mask. In one, a beloved real-life Hollywood comedy legend delivers a short monologue to Valerie about why AI can never replace real comedy writers, because comedy needs broken people. In another, a cast member from The Comeback's first season returns simply to assure Valerie that she is a good person, a wonderful person, and that she is in no way in the wrong.
On both occasions, seasoned viewers will be patiently but eagerly awaiting the turn, the rug-pull, the reveal that such abject, wet-eyed earnestness will of course get swatted down, because this is The Comeback. But the turn never comes, the rug remains firmly in place and we are left to grapple with the knowledge that we've just been exposed to the creators' true intent, delivered with a gravid plainness, without anything even resembling the gimlet-eyed take we've come to, well … cherish.
But you know what? Fine. Who knows if Valerie will return in ten years' time to once again Cassandra us all about the state of the entertainment industry? Who knows, in point of fact, if there'll be an entertainment industry for her to return to? I forgave those moments of uncharacteristic ingenuousness because I managed to convince myself they felt valedictory, triumphant — a few discordant bars within Valerie Cherish's swan song.
Which, as viewers of The Comeback's definitive, beloved, iconic Season 1 finale will remember, is "I Will Survive." Because it could never be anything else. Y'know?
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