The Good Place: Can Meaningful Comedy Change us for the Better?

On sitcoms, the afterlife, moral philosophy, and what it means to be a good person according to an NBC fantasy-comedy television series.

CONTAINS SPOILERS OF ALL FOUR SEASONS

Some six years ago, the first episode of The Good Place aired. This series takes place in the afterlife, where there is no heaven or hell — instead humans are placed in the Good Place or the Bad Place, depending on how they lived on earth.

The series follows the morally corrupt Eleanor Shellstrop who, after she dies, somehow finds herself in the utopian Good Place. Knowing that there has been a mistake, Eleanor hides her past to avoid going to the hell-like Bad Place, whilst trying to learn to become a better person. What a strong premise for a TV series. Hats off to creator and showrunner Michael Schur.

In its four seasons, the show explores whether humans are inherently good or bad. In the afterlife, Eleanor meets her “soulmate”, a moral philosophy professor named Chidi Anagonye, to whom she confesses that she does not belong in the Good Place. The kind but anxiety ridden professor, finds himself torn between two choices: doing the “right” thing by making her confess that they made a mistake or teaching her ethics and how to become a better person. Chidi chooses the latter.

There are two other important characters in the afterlife. Tahani Al-Jamil, a socialite and philanthropist who raised billions for charity, and her “soulmate” Jianyu Li, a Buddhist monk who took a vow of silence and remains quiet in the afterlife. However, we soon find out that another mistake has been made. Jianyu Li is also not supposed to be in the Good Place, as he is not a silent monk, but rather a naïve DJ and drug dealer from Florida, named Jason Mendoza.

The characters attempt to hide this information from Michael, who is a angel in the afterlife and the architect of the neighborhood in which Eleanor, Chidi, Tahani, and Jason reside. This becomes increasingly harder, as various things go wrong in the neighborhood, and the architect is trying hard to understand where the mistake lies for all these problems. Unexpectedly, Eleanor confesses and Michael is forced to send her to the bad place, but by now she has been learning how to improve and genuinely wants to become a better person.

Through a series of nail-biting and toe-curling events, we are brought to the end of the first season, where the four beings are continuously fighting over what the best course of action is and who actually deserves to be in the Bad Place. Until Eleanors eyes widen and she expresses a pivotal realization: ‘They’re never gonna call a train to get us to the Bad Place. They can’t. Because we’re already here. This is the Bad Place.’

It becomes clear that not just Eleanor and Jason, but all four characters belong in the Bad Place. Philosophy professor Chidi’s anxiety and inability to make decisions has caused huge suffering to those around him, and philanthropist Tahani’s good actions on earth were driven by deep insecurity and fueled by jealousy toward her sister. These four characters have been put together in this mock-version of the Good Place, in order to torture each other for eternity.

And yet… quite the opposite was happening. Instead of simply making each others’ afterlives miserable, these characters were actually able to help each other understand their shortcomings and work towards becoming better people.

Throughout its four seasons, the series never loses sight of its thematic question: What does it mean to be a good person and live a meaningful (after)life? It explores this by weaving philosophy into mainstream media through humor and authentic character development. The writers clearly know how to cleverly use slapstick comedy when tackling serious themes.

How can a mere fantasy sitcom be so clever in its execution?

The Good Place never takes their characters for granted. At first glance Eleanor, Chidi, Tahani, Jason — and even architect Michael — can appear one dimensional. In the second season, when we have already found out that the supposed angel Michael is actually a demon, one might assume that a character with this loaded term will never be able to change. And this also appears to be true in the majority of the season, where — even when trying to be better to the humans — Michael still finds himself torturing them and enjoying it. Only when he confronts death, experiences an existential crisis, and truly grasps the meaning of friendship Michael is able to develop genuine empathy for the four humans, beginning to connect with them on a deeper level.

Another character which one could suggest would never change is Janet — a humanlike service provider and guide with all the information in the universe. Sort of like a female-looking artificial intelligence. Whenever Janet gets rebooted, she gains more intricate knowledge on what it is like to be a human, even developing feelings such as anger, jealousy, loss and love.

This series always takes an unexpected turn, with even the most seasoned TV viewers not expecting each and every twist in the show. In the end of the first season, the characters find out they are actually in the bad place, which — though some suggest otherwise — has even been credited as being the best plot-twist in television history. Furthermore, this plot-twist is not just a cheap gimmick designed for shock value, rather it gives a whole new thematic meaning to everything we have seen thus far. We now understand how all four characters were being tortured, with Eleanor being surrounded by people she felt inferior to, Jason being forced to remain silent and not be show his true self, Tahani never being quite “good enough” for her soulmate who does not acknowledge her, and the undecisive Chidi having to ultimately decide the fate of another human being.

The series actually resembles the theatrical play by existantialist philosopher and playwright Jean-Paul Sartre, No Exit. In this play, three deceased individuals are punished by being locked into a room together for eternity. As the story progresses, they reveal more and more about who they are, what their actions were on earth, and they even begin to (unintentionally) torment one another with similar actions to what they had done on earth. This play very well explains Sartre’s famous quote: ‘L'enfer, c'est les autres,’ meaning ‘Hell is other people.’ And yet, by the end of the play when the door mysteriously opens, none of the characters leave. They prefer to endure this torture which has become familiar and predictable, then to exit and find themselves in unchartered territory. The others — though bad for them — have become their comfort zone.

This play does not end on a hopeful note. But The Good Place does.

The Good Place shows us a reality in which characters can and want to change for the better, by helping one another. The end of the third season shows us what the Good Place (as they call it) truly looks like and it… sucks. When our characters reach this so-called utopia, they discover that every person who was reached this place is bored out of their minds. Apparently, having every desire fulfilled for eternity can only be exciting for so long.

So, the thematic question: What does it mean to be a good person and live a meaningful (after)life? To answer the second part of that question, the ending of the series argues that death makes life meaningful. But it can only be meaningful when life is experienced with other people. So ‘Hell is other people,’ but this series argues that heaven is too. And this goes hand in hand with being a good person, as it is not about the characters’ past actions, but their ongoing willingness to becoming better people for others, as well as for themselves.

In the end, a new system has been implemented according to an idea of Eleanor in which there is an end, even in the Good Place. Anyone arriving there can enjoy this afterlife for as long as they please, but at a certain point, they can decide to leave the Good Place and afterlife altogether. By this point, every character has changed — and are still developing — into better versions of themselves, whilst also helping others. Eleanor brings in people from the bad place and tries to understand why the made specific decisions on earth which led them there, and Chidi still wants to study moral pilosophy and does so by teaching ethics. Meanwhile when Jason, who always wanted to be known by many and was scared of being forgotten, decides to leave the afterlife, he only cares about one person remembering him: his love the female-looking artificial intelligence — Janet. And lastly, Tahani decides to remain and become an architect, becoming a true philanthropist and making the afterlife a better place.

The TV show does not overstay its welcome, but ends exactly when it is supposed to. In the first season, Michael comically lists various unimportant human things that he wants to experience, such as getting his hair wet, pulling a hamstring, eating a saltine, getting any kind of rewards card, and ending a conversation with ‘Take it sleazy.’ In the last episode, Michael is allowed to become human and live life on earth. One day, a man comes to Michael, giving him a wrongly delivered letter that was actually intended to be for him. Michael thanks the man and finishes by saying: ‘Take it sleazy.’

Well-written, cleverly crafted, hilarious, and meaningful, this sitcom had everything needed to explore what it takes to become a better person. It did so through a blend of comedy and philosophical themes. But the reason I believe this series — and stories like it — can truly change us is not just its humor or its thematic questions. It is the characters: the ones we relate to, who embody these themes and live them out in ways that matter to us. That connection, the empathy we feel, and the care we invest in these characters, is what resonates most. Empathy can make us better people. Loving certain characters can too.

You Can't Make This Stuff Up

On true crime, Chaos theory, and studio Ghibli; based on true stories.

A couple of years ago I had a conversation with a producer that I was working with. We would often discuss true crime stories which could potentially inspire the next TV show or film project. In this conversation, we spoke about a podcast we were both listening to. In Napleiten, meaning ‘arguing further after the case in Dutch’, each episode the hosts — a crime journalist and criminal defense lawyer — are joined by public prosecutors and lawyers, to delve into extraordinary criminal trials. These cases can range from alleged attempts at manslaughter to incest, from dark web activities to a diamond heist. One thing is certain, the details of these cases make you understand Mark Twain’s quote ‘Truth is stranger than fiction.’

Zodiac (2007), written by James Vanderbilt, directed by David Fincher

I believe most of us are aware of the intricacies of the human mind and what people are capable of. We observe this in true crime TV shows and movies based on true events. Just have one look at this list of famous books, films and series:

• 12 Years a Slave

  A free black man from upstate New York, is abducted and sold into slavery. For the next twelve years he is forced to work on two Louisiana plantations.

• The Serpent

  A serial killer murders Western backpackers, who are going through the “Hippie Trail”, exploring Southeast Asia.

• Into the Wild

  A young man gives up everything, including a trust fund and ties to his immediate family, to lead a solitary life in the wild.

• Les Intouchables

  An unlikely friendship develops between a wealthy quadriplegic and his caretaker, just released from prison.

• Hachikō Monogatari (remake — Hachi: A Dog’s Tale)

  A college professor's bonds with the abandoned dog he takes into his home. When he unexpectedly passes away, the dog continues to wait at the station each day for nearly a decade, faithfully hoping for his owner's return.

• The Big Short

  A group of investors bet against the United States mortgage market. In their research, they discover how flawed and corrupt the market is.

One might argue that these stories are indeed partly true, but that they have been dramatized in order to appeal to audiences in its high-end drama format. I cannot argue against this, seeing as — for the most part — these stories do add their own storylines, characters, and even plots in order to create a coherent film or book for said audiences. Still, reality does not owe us coherence.

Zwartboek (2006), written and directed by Paul Verhoeven, co-written by Gerard Soeteman

There is a Stanford lecture by professor Robert Sapolsky, where he mentions chaos theory, and references the book by James Gleick discussing this theory. After listening to a couple of his lectures, I decided to purchase this book to further develop my understanding of chaos theory. Unfortunately, my knowledge of the field is fairly limited and after trying to re-read the first three chapters over and over, I decided to admit to my scientific limitations and put the book down. But this did not weaken my interest in this theory. Quite the opposite.

There is one lesson I did take away from this book. Gleick argues that over time, even the most predictable systems behave in unexpected ways. Scientists often resist chaos, seeing as it goes against intuition and this chaos does not only emerge in grand events, but even in the small and mundane.

Edward Lorenz was a meteorologist who wanted to better understand the weather. He thought that if he were to measure exactly how the air is moving today, he could predict the weather of tomorrow. So he made a computer model of the atmosphere. Lorenz wanted to save time, so he made a tiny difference in his computer by just rounding up a number — typing 0.506 instead of 0.506127 — which completely changed the entire prediction.

This was revolutionary. Instead of sun the machine would for example predict rain. Instead of stormy weathers the wind would be calm. Small and almost invisible differences can generate hugely different outcomes, meaning that we are never able to predict anything seeing as the tiniest detail can completely change everything. Much of the world is governed by this same unpredictability, so it is impossible to know what the future holds. This thought can be both exciting and unsettling.

I’m Thinking of Ending Things (2020), written by Charlie Kaufman

How does this theory apply to fiction?

In storytelling, we are taught to follow a clear structure, which wraps into a more or less predictable ending, but could be understandable due to the nature of the story. We know that Batman will eventually defeat the villain, but we want to know how he will do it. How will he be challenged, and what methods will he use to overcome these challenges? Even surrealist writers such as Charlie Kaufman, [Being John Malkovich (1999), Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004), Synecdoche, New York (2008)], tend to follow a certain structure that — though more complex in its nature — is still understandable when applied to story theory.

Who does it differently?

There is an exception to every rule. Not every film follows a similar structure to the “Hollywood-esque” type of storytelling we are used to. My first thoughts go to the animation films, produced by Studio Ghibli. In his films — such as My Neighbor Totoro, Princess Mononoke, and Spirited Away — Hayao Miyazaki uses a method of storytelling that date to ancient times in Japan, called Kishōtenketsu. This structure resonates with chaos theory more than our Western storytelling.

Princess Mononoke (1997), written and directed by Hayao Miyazaki

To Western viewers, Ghibli films might appear to be chaotic, structureless, and perhaps even confusing. Kishōtenketsu stands for Ki (起) = introduction; Shō (承) = development; Ten (転) = turn / twist; and Ketsu (結) = resolution. Unlike Western films, these films do not rely on hero/villain characters, a central conflict, huge emotional build-up, wrapped up in a tidy arc. This substack article explains Ghibli storytelling beautifully.

Perhaps we can examine this structure through one of his famous films — Spirited Away.

A 10-year-old girl, named Chihiro, travels with her parents to their new home. When taking a shortcut, they come across an abandoned town with an empty restaurant full of food, which Chihiro’s parents eagerly begin to eat. Meanwhile, the little girl explores the town, finding a bathhouse and meets a boy, Haku, who warns her to return across the riverbed before sunset. But by now spirits have started to appear. Chihiro goes back to the restaurant to discover that her parents have been transformed into pigs, and the river has been flooded. They cannot cross it anymore. The story unfolds as Chihiro starts working at the bathhouse, meeting workers and spirits, life there enters into a routine.

Spirited Away (2001), written and directed by Hayao Miyazaki

In the beginning one might suspect that Chihiro will have to defeat her boss at the bathhouse — the witch Yubaba, who steals workers’ names and controls them through labor and fear. However, in the film Yubaba is not presented as a villain. She is merely a manager who wants what is best for the bathhouse. Thus, he acts greedy when that greed is necessary, but acts with kindness where appropriate. The film is not about Chihiro trying to defeat the '“evil” Yubaba, trying to change this world and overthrow the system. Instead, the little girl learns the rules of the world, slowly becoming more capable, understanding how to navigate it. Even though the system does not change, Chihiro does.

Yes, there are spirits, mysticism, and fantastical elements, but aside from these elements, Ghibli films do mirror real life. And just like in Chaos theory, the films are characterized by structured unpredictability. It unfolds slowly, each small change happening moment by moment — without radically exploding into huge conflict — which in the end reveals how all these tiny details had a big impact. In essence, Kishōtenketsu storytelling truly mirrors real life, where one might not understand the importance of each small moment, though in the end they all make sense after all.

Now back to reality.

The Spy (2019), written and directed by Gideon Raff, co-written by Max Perry

Real life can be both mundane and grandiose. In the podcast mentioned earlier, the hosts discuss incidents which can almost feel surreal at times. As in other true crime we are familiar with, horror stories about pedophilia, murder, war, and so on happen on a day to day basis. Things are constantly changing, though not always happen through meaning and understanding, as in fiction. When it comes to true stories, we cannot always wrap them up in a nice structure, where the grandiosity or chaos is justified.

To continue Twain’s quote: ‘Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; truth isn’t.’

In other words: fiction has to make sense. Reality doesn’t.

What the Hell is a Dramaturg?

The creative collaborator who shifts between acting as a story analyst, creative collaborator, editor, facilitator, researcher, and a mirror to the creator.

Whenever I tell someone who is not in the film or theatre industry what I do, I either get an awkward nod or the more straightforward ‘What does that even mean?’ There are countless terms to describe my work: dramaturg, script-editor, script consultant, story consultant, script doctor, concept creator (not to be confused with content creator — a whole different ballpark)… but what do all these terms actually mean?

The first dramaturg Between 1729 and 1781, there lived a man in Hamburg named Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, the person who many consider to be the world’s first dramaturg. Lessing studied philology (study of language in historical sources), theology, and philosophy, and had developed an early interest in literature and theatre. He was an Enlightenement Thinker, challenged French Neoclassical theatre rules, and criticizing his own contemporaries for attending theatre out of fashion or curiosity rather than deep emotional and moral engagement (Lessing 1890, Essays 80–82). His path was not straightforward, but the various disciplines he explored eventually came together to form the formal career we now know as dramaturgy.

Bérénice, written by Jean Racine (1670)

While working at the Hamburg National Theatre in 1767, Lessing combined his groundbreaking theatre theory, in order to pave the way for future dramaturgs. In essence, he combined his love for writing, his philosophical, religious and linguistic studies, and his practical theatre and performance knowledge, with a critical approach to stories and its social awareness, and thus created the art of dramaturgy. He was a playwright, philosopher, literary critic, and one of the central thinkers of the Enlightenment in German literature and a foundational voice in modern theatre theory.

So how does that apply to our modern world? Even though theatre is still an important dramatic storytelling medium, it is fair to say that film and TV have shifted into becoming the dominant form today. For the purpose of this essay, I am not including the evolution of short-form digital media, such as TikTok, Instagram reels, and youtube shorts. So in a way, screen-based storytelling grew to its succes, thanks to a level of accessibility that theatre normally does not allow. Scholars note that while theatre is still valued for immediacy and intimacy, the dominant cultural space for storytelling is now film and TV, shaping popular narrative expectations (Mittell 2015, Bordwell 1985).

When the ending credits roll up after a film, one can easily recognize that it took a substantial amount of people to bring this story from a two-hundred page script, to the visual on-screen artistry we got to experience. Though we might not fully understand these countless jobs and their necessity, it is slightly easier to understand the core people who made this film into what it is today — screenwriters who wrote the script, directors who directed the story, actors who performed, and producers who created the conditions that allowed everyone else to do their job. Still, before we get to filming, there is a very long development process, that preceeds the moment we pick up a camera, or even before we consider hiring actors.

Sunset Boulevard, written and directed by Billy Wilders, co-written by Charles Brackett D.M. Marshman Jr. (1950)

In film and television, there are many stages of development, depending on where an artist or production company is in their development process. In some cases, there is only a small shiny glimmer of an idea that will be development into a TV show, in some cases a book inspires the next great blockbuster film, or a true story can be made into a four-part series. There are so many ways in which stories can be developed into another medium. Perhaps the screenwriter approaches a producer with an idea, perhaps a producer approaches a screenwriter with an idea. So where does the dramaturg come into play?

Screenwriters are highly creative people. In some cases they are good at structure or in other instances they are more intuitive creators. Some need a lot of breathing room in order to fully translate an idea from their mind onto the page, and some want to engage in conversation in order to understand the story they are trying to tell. Some require constant feedback and some prefer to be asked select questions in order for their film or play to progress in the right direction. This is where a dramaturg or script editor comes into play. They work alongside the writer, or in some cases the director, to help their story to become its best self.

Barton Fink, written and directed by Joel and Ethan Coen (1991)

In theatre, dramaturgs used to have — and still have — a more hands-on mentality, as they might assist a director in the rehearsal room, helping the director stay on track. They might serve as a “sounding board”, offer feedback on character, plot or pacing, research cultural, historical or thematic context, as well as refining scenes or even assisting actors whilst supporting the entire creative process. In film and television, the dramaturgs take a supporting role long before production. They have a role similar to theatre dramaturgs, in the sense that they refine story structure, characters and pacing, ask the right questions, research context where needed, or simply act as a sounding board for the writer or director.

So dramaturgs make any project better, right…? Well, not really.

8½, written and directed by Federico Fellini, co-written by Ennio Flaiano, Tullio Pinelli, Brunello Rondi (1963)

Just like in any industry, the people make the place. We might have a great connection with some, whilst we struggle to collaborate on tasks with another. The same is true for filmmakers, who might need some time finding the right fit for their project. It is comparable to trying to find the right psychologist — sometimes fit matters more than credentials and it is completely normal to “shop around” for a therapist whose personality, expertise and style suit your own. At the end of the day, you want to feel connected to that person who you will most probably spend a lot of time with, going into deep waters. The same is true for writers or directors finding the right dramaturg.

If the fit is right, these collaborations could span over entire careers. Creative work can be incredibly vulnerable, as it often comes from a personal place, where writers and directors are exposed to judgement and a fair amount of uncertainty. Psychologist Brené Brown calls this “creative vulnerability” — the willingness to risk shame, criticism, or failure for the sake of creating something meaningful. Therefore, the right dramaturg can lift an artist up by offering a supportive environment, helping them focus, and guide them towards the best story they could tell. But when the match is not there, it can be detrimental to any story, as it can create doubt, foster negativity around the project, or go in the complete wrong direction.

Mujeres al borde de un ataque de nervios [Women on the Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown], written and directed by Pedro Almodóvar (1988)

As mentioned, a good match between a writer/director and a dramaturg can lift any project up. In some cases, the dramaturg is present in the first steps of crafting an idea into a story, sometimes they come into it towards the end when the script is there, acting as a story analyst and editor to help find the main problems with the story to make it better, or sometimes they are even present throughout the entire process. Though not always crucial, dramaturgs can play an important role in shaping a story for its intended audience. As long as they assist, without trying to impose how they would do it.

Moving with the tides As dramatic storytelling keeps on changing, a dramaturg keeps on moving and adapting to cater to new theory. However, the essence of story still remains the same. Classical theorists, notably Aristotle, argued that tragedy should have a beginning, middle, and end, arousing pity and fear to produce catharsis (Aristotle 1932). This still applies in todays various media forms. Even though a TV series can be incredibly complex, with an entire football team of characters, hundreds of episodes, and countless acrs over many seasons, the core ideas remain the same. Dramaturgs ensure narrative continuity, monitor emotional arcs and plot clarity, challenge writers on their scripts, and refine story elements.

So… what is a dramaturg? Many things.