Tonight marks the end of Tina Fey’s iconic sitcom, “30 Rock,” a bittersweet moment for comedy aficionados. Having eagerly anticipated the finale alongside fellow screen-deprived viewers, a genuine sense of loss accompanies the departure of this Thursday night staple. “30 Rock” wasn’t just funny; it was a grenade of meticulously crafted zingers, a sweet yet sour comedic concoction that was both laugh-out-loud hilarious and strangely insightful – funny-relevant, if we dare coin the term. Its quotability bordered on the obsessive, and its absence will be keenly felt, like a stalker missing their… well, you get the picture.
Reflecting on “30 Rock,” countless angles emerge, but the most immediate is gazing out at the Empire State Building, a quintessential New York icon. Initially conceived from Fey’s experiences as the pioneering female head writer at “Saturday Night Live,” “30 Rock” rapidly transcended its origins. It morphed into something grander, more eccentric, and daring: a surreal comedic engine capable of dissecting everything from feminism and diverse perspectives on race to the absurdities of national politics, reality television, and corporate culture—all filtered through a distinctly New Yorker’s lens.
It’s crucial to note that the characters weren’t necessarily born-and-bred New Yorkers, with the exception of the inimitable Tracy Jordan (famously born in Yankee Stadium and educated at a Bronx Exxon station). The ensemble cast hailed from various corners of America—Pennsylvania, Florida, Massachusetts, Georgia—transplanted to Manhattan. These were ambitious, slightly unhinged individuals who lived for their careers, infusing the office comedy trope with a potent blend of workaholism and a persistent anxiety about the implications. Jack Donaghy, in a near-death confession, lamented, “I wish I’d worked more.” Even in a time-travel sequence, Future Jack urged present Jack to let Liz distract him from his relentless ambition. While numerous shows have utilized a generic “New York” backdrop, “30 Rock” was deeply, almost obsessively, engaged with the real, vibrant city. It peppered episodes with references to both significant and minute New York events—elections, the financial crisis, even the city’s peculiar maple-syrup scent. It wasn’t sentimental about the city, and it certainly wasn’t afraid of a dark joke, exemplified by the subway announcement: “This train is going express for nooo reason. Next stop: One Millionth Street and Central Park Jogger Memorial Highway.”
When seeking further examples of “30 Rock’s” New York DNA on Twitter, the response was overwhelming. References poured in, highlighting the fictional store Brooklyn Without Limits (“w/ locations in Gay Town, White Harlem, and the Van Beardswick section of Brooklyn”); the episode satirizing anti-terrorist paranoia (“If you suspect anything, do everything”); and Dennis Duffy’s iconic subway hero moment, shouting “Baba Booey, Stern rules!” at a Bloomberg press conference. There was Jack’s accidental delivery of a homeless person’s speech on the subway. The unforgettable scene where a hobo spat in Liz’s mouth, punctuated by a nonchalant old lady remarking, “I just love New York in the spring” before being shoved into garbage. David Schwimmer’s portrayal of an actor whose career peak was a Rick Lazio-for-Senate commercial, and Jack’s desperate attempts to get Devon’s “gaybies” into St. Matthew’s, a preschool so elite even saintly descendants faced rejection.
The show didn’t shy away from the less glamorous aspects of city life either, featuring bedbugs, the notorious Moonvest, a City Hall wedding, and a constant barrage of deadpan quips. Consider lines like, “He goes to Sbarro when he’s stressed, the New York Stock Exchange when he’s horny, and Christie’s when he’s depressed.” Or, “There was a cyclone in Brooklyn last year. It destroyed two vintage T-shirt shops and a banjo.” And the quintessentially New York threat, “I will give you a New York minute, Lemon, which is seven seconds.”
Beyond the rapid-fire jokes, “30 Rock” dedicated entire episodes to specific New York locales and scenarios. The Red Hook-Ikea trip, Liz and Kenneth’s journey to the Zorgonia station in Queens via the X train, and “T.G.S.” hiring former Lehman Brothers brokers as interns are prime examples. The midtown fireworks triggering 9/11 flashbacks, the mention of Little Chechnya, Liz’s stint as a Liberty cheerleader, and the ubiquitous sight of three Rite Aids on a single street corner all contributed to the show’s rich tapestry of New York references. Even Celia’s bakery in the Bronx, humorously located at “the corner of Malcolm X Boulevard and Guy Who Shot Malcolm X Boulevard,” underscored the show’s commitment to hyper-local, often absurd, New York humor.
Last season’s standout episode, “The Tuxedo Returns,” served as a full-blown commentary on Manhattan living, cleverly framed as a parody of “The Dark Knight.” After being mugged, Jack decides to run for mayor, retreating from the general populace and perpetually clad in formal wear. Simultaneously, Liz, overwhelmed by the city’s notorious rudeness, vents, “Jay-Z was right about New York. Concrete bungholes where dreams are made up, there’s nothing you can do.” Embracing her urban rage, Liz discovers that a gray wig allows her to embody the archetypal deranged New York old lady, securing subway seats by confiding to strangers, “I’m pregnant with a kitty-cat. Those are my popsicles.” Transforming into a disheveled, lipstick-smeared Joker figure, she laments the constraints of societal rules, hissing, “What did the rules ever get me? The worst seat at the movies? A bunch of music I paid for? A drawer full of leaky batteries I don’t know what to do with?” before dramatically whipping her cape and storming into the night.
Despite this vivid urban meltdown, Liz Lemon’s overarching narrative embodies a particular version of the New York dream. While she might be considered an artistic sellout, she achieves considerable success. Initially, Liz was a stressed, underpaid “creative” toiling on a mediocre sketch show. She evolves into a relatively composed, well-compensated professional, still managing a mediocre sketch show, but now capable of leveraging Jack Donaghy to negotiate her salary against himself, for her benefit. Many mid-series episodes revolve around Liz’s anxieties about becoming a wealthy Manhattanite. At one point, she even contemplates becoming a pampered Upper East Side lady of leisure, only to discover her affluent new acquaintances are involved in a fight club. In Season 2, her co-op board interview descends into a drunken phone call debacle (“You know what? I’ve moved on. I bought a whole bunch of apartments. I bought a black apartment.”). Ultimately, she does acquire an apartment, then the one above it, creating a duplex so desirable that her new female page fantasizes about wearing Liz’s lips as a mask.
“30 Rock” also consistently acknowledged the New York City existing beyond the glamorous Upper West Side bubble, particularly through Tracy’s repressed memories of his Bronx upbringing. “All my life I’ve tried to [forget the things I’ve seen]. A crackhead breast-feeding a rat, a homeless man cooking a Hot Pocket on a third rail of the G train!” These traumatic flashbacks resurface during the EGOT plotline, as Tracy gains prestige for his role in the fictional movie “Hard to Watch: Based on the Novel ‘Stone-Cold Bummer,’ by Manipulate.”
While New York will undoubtedly continue to be the setting for numerous television shows—Brooklyn-centric series are already abundant—there will never be another “30 Rock.” Instead, we’ll carry forward Liz Lemon’s timeless wisdom, words that will resonate in reruns for years to come: “It doesn’t matter how long you’ve lived in New York. It’s still fun to pretend all the buildings are giant severed robot penises.” This perfectly encapsulates the show’s unique ability to find humor in the mundane, the absurd, and the iconic aspects of New York City life, leaving an indelible mark on the comedy landscape.
