Tonight marks the end of Tina Fey’s sitcom, “30 Rock,” and for fans of smart, rapid-fire comedy, it’s a genuinely sad farewell. This wasn’t just another workplace sitcom; “30 Rock” was a comedic grenade, packed with zingers and a unique blend of sweet and sour humor. It was funny in the traditional sense, yet also strangely peculiar and remarkably relevant, making it quotable to an almost obsessive degree. For those who appreciated its sharp wit and New York-centric perspective, the absence of new episodes will be keenly felt.
When “30 Rock” first premiered, it drew inspiration from Fey’s own experiences as the pioneering female head writer for “Saturday Night Live.” However, it quickly evolved into something far more expansive, bizarre, and daring. The show became a surreal comedic machine, capable of commenting on a vast spectrum of topics through a distinctly New York lens. From insightful takes on feminism and multifaceted perspectives on race to sharp satires of national politics, the absurdities of reality television, and the quirks of corporate culture, “30 Rock” consistently delivered its commentary with a quintessential New Yorker’s point of view.
It’s worth noting that while the show was deeply rooted in New York City, not all of its iconic characters were native New Yorkers. Aside from Tracy Jordan, who boasts a hilariously exaggerated origin story of being born in Yankee Stadium and attending middle school at a Bronx Exxon station, the core cast members were transplants. Liz Lemon hailed from Pennsylvania, Jack Donaghy from Massachusetts, Jenna Maroney from Florida, and Kenneth Parcell from Georgia. This ensemble of ambitious individuals, drawn to Manhattan and defined by their careers at the fictional NBC sketch comedy show “TGS with Tracy Jordan,” injected the familiar office comedy framework with a potent dose of workaholism and the ever-present anxiety about the implications of such dedication. Jack Donaghy’s near-deathbed confession, “I wish I’d worked more,” and the subsequent time-travel sequence where Future Jack urges Jack to have Liz distract him from his relentless ambition, perfectly encapsulate this theme. While countless shows have utilized a generic, almost cartoonish version of “New York” as a backdrop, “30 Rock” was meticulously attentive to the real, vibrant, and sometimes absurd details of the city. It peppered scripts with references to both grand events and everyday occurrences, from various elections and the tumultuous financial crisis to the city’s peculiar maple-syrup scent. The show’s humor wasn’t sentimental; it was unafraid to venture into dark and irreverent territory. A prime example is the darkly comedic subway announcement: “This train is going express for nooo reason. Next stop: One Millionth Street and Central Park Jogger Memorial Highway.”
The show’s commitment to New York detail is further illustrated by the sheer volume of references that resonated with viewers familiar with the city. When asked for examples on Twitter, the response was overwhelming. Memorable mentions include the fictional store Brooklyn Without Limits, hilariously boasting “w/ locations in Gay Town, White Harlem, and the Van Beardswick section of Brooklyn,” and the episode satirizing anti-terrorist paranoia with the absurdly logical advice, “If you suspect anything, do everything.” Dennis Duffy’s unforgettable moment as a subway hero, shouting “Baba Booey, Stern rules!” at a Bloomberg press conference, is another classic example. The show also mined humor from the everyday absurdities of city life, such as Jack accidentally delivering a homeless person’s speech on the subway. A particularly memorable and cringe-worthy moment involved a hobo spitting in Liz Lemon’s mouth, immediately followed by an oblivious old lady’s cheerful remark, “I just love New York in the spring,” before she gets abruptly pushed into a pile of garbage. Even political humor was hyperlocal, with David Schwimmer playing an actor whose career nadir was a Rick Lazio-for-Senate commercial. The cutthroat world of Manhattan preschool admissions was also ripe for satire, as seen in Jack’s attempts to get Devon’s “gaybies” into the impossibly prestigious St. Matthew’s, a school so exclusive that even descendants of the saint were rejected.
The quintessential New York City experience of battling bedbugs made its way into the series, as did the satirical corporate entity “Moonvest,” a clear jab at media conglomerates. A City Hall wedding provided another backdrop for New York-specific humor. Beyond grand storylines, “30 Rock” excelled at deadpan, New York-centric quips. Consider Liz’s observation about Jack: “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 the dry wit describing a Brooklyn cyclone: “There was a cyclone in Brooklyn last year. It destroyed two vintage T-shirt shops and a banjo.” And who could forget Liz’s iconic, impatient declaration: “I will give you a New York minute, Lemon, which is seven seconds.”
Further examples of “30 Rock”’s New York obsession abound: the Red Hook-Ikea episode, the bizarre journey to the fictional Zorgonia station in Queens on the X train, and “T.G.S.” hiring former Lehman Brothers brokers as interns in the wake of the financial crisis. The show even tackled sensitive subjects with its signature dark humor, referencing midtown fireworks triggering 9/11 flashbacks and the existence of Little Chechnya. Liz Lemon’s brief stint as a Liberty cheerleader, and the hyper-saturation of chain pharmacies exemplified by “the three Rite Aids on one street corner,” are further nods to the minutiae of New York life. The specificity even extended to the Bronx, with a mention of Celia’s bakery located at the comically convoluted intersection of Malcolm X Boulevard and Guy Who Shot Malcolm X Boulevard.
Last year’s standout episode, “The Tuxedo Returns,” served as a full-blown referendum on Manhattan life, cleverly disguised as a parody of “The Dark Knight.” In this episode, Jack, after being mugged, decides to run for mayor, retreating from the general populace and perpetually clad in formal wear. Liz, mirroring the frustrations of many New Yorkers, laments the city’s perceived rudeness, quoting Jay-Z’s lyrics about “concrete bungholes where dreams are made up,” and concluding, “there’s nothing you can do.” Embracing her urban exasperation, Liz discovers that a gray wig allows her to embody the archetypal deranged old New Yorker, securing subway seats by confiding to strangers, “I’m pregnant with a kitty-cat. Those are my popsicles.” Her transformation culminates in a Joker-esque devolution, complete with smeared lipstick and disheveled clothing, as she hisses, “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 off into the night.
Despite this vivid, albeit comedic, breakdown, Liz Lemon’s overall trajectory represents a particular version of the New York dream. While she might be considered an “artistic sellout,” she achieves a significant level of success. Initially portrayed as a frazzled, underpaid “creative” struggling on a mediocre sketch show, Liz evolves into a comparatively composed, well-compensated professional. She remains in charge of the same “mediocre” show, but gains the clout to leverage Jack Donaghy into negotiating her salary upwards, against himself, and on her behalf. Many episodes throughout the series humorously explore Liz’s anxieties about becoming a wealthy Manhattanite. At one point, she even briefly entertains the idea of becoming a “wealthy Upper East Side woman of leisure,” only to find her fancy new acquaintances are involved in a bizarre fight club. In Season 2, her attempt to navigate the notoriously challenging co-op board interview process devolves into a drunken phone call debacle, culminating in the memorable line, “You know what? I’ve moved on. I bought a whole bunch of apartments. I bought a black apartment.” Ultimately, Liz does achieve the New York dream of upward mobility, buying not just one, but two apartments, creating a duplex so desirable that her new female page fantasizes about quite literally wearing Liz’s lips as a mask – a testament to the show’s surreal and darkly comedic edge.
“30 Rock” also consistently acknowledged the realities of New York life that exist beyond the glamorous Upper West Side settings often depicted on television. Tracy Jordan’s repressed memories of his Bronx upbringing provided glimpses into a darker, grittier side of the city. His trauma-induced recollections include “a crackhead breast-feeding a rat, a homeless man cooking a Hot Pocket on a third rail of the G train!” These particularly disturbing memories resurface during the EGOT plotline, triggered by Tracy’s newfound prestige from his role in the fictional movie “Hard to Watch: Based on the Novel ‘Stone-Cold Bummer,’ by Manipulate.”
While there will undoubtedly be other television shows set in New York City – and indeed, many are currently set in Brooklyn – there will never be another “30 Rock.” Its unique blend of rapid-fire jokes, surreal humor, and hyper-specific New York City observations created a comedic landscape all its own. Instead, fans will have to cherish Liz Lemon’s timeless wisdom, words that will undoubtedly echo 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.”
