As NBC struggles to get back on its feet and wiggle its way out of fourth place in the ratings, it has picked up "Parenthood," a new series that seems to be orchestrated from some scientific formula for television success. Based on the 1989 film of the same name, the freshman series reunites the film's director, Ron Howard, with his "Arrested Development" (2003−2006) producing partner Brian Grazer. Howard produced a similar, eponymous NBC series, also based on the film, but that series was cancelled after one season (from 1990 to 1991).
Now he and Grazer have hired "Friday Night Lights" head writer Jason Katims to pen the series and Aaron Sorkin−collaborator Thomas Schlamme to direct the pilot. To head the cast, "Parenthood" snared Peter Krause ("Six Feet Under," 2001−2005) and Lauren Graham ("Gilmore Girls," 2000−2007). NBC scheduled the show to air after its biggest ratings hit, "The Biggest Loser," and spent the entirety of the Winter Olympics promoting it.
This scientific formula hasn't quite paid off yet; last week's premiere pulled in mediocre−to−good ratings. Still, such an impressive TV pedigree seems to indicate that the show, no matter how pedestrian its concept, will continue to be at least very well done.
"Parenthood" follows the four adult siblings of the Braverman family: Adam (Krause), Sarah (Graham), Julia (Erika Christensen) and Crosby (Dax Shepard). All of them have, in some capacity, families of their own. But when Sarah moves back to her parents' house with her two teenage children in tow, the Bravermans become one large unit once again.
The soul of the show, like that of ABC's thematically similar "Modern Family," lies in the big family gatherings that allow everyone to interact and weigh in on everyone else's lives. Though each sibling has his or her own distinct conflict or struggle, "Parenthood" would do well to concentrate on the relationships between the Braverman siblings.
Krause and Graham, who both turned in stellar TV work throughout the last decade, are unsurprisingly the standout performers here. Graham manages to play the single mother of a teenage girl and differentiate her character (mostly) from Lorelai Gilmore. Her relationship with her daughter, Mae Whitman's swarthy, snarky Amber, finds believability in the two women's mutual frustration. The show has fun with the oscillation of Sarah's roles between mature disciplinarian and immature loose cannon.
Krause delivers the spotlight emotional scene in the pilot as he breaks down in front of his father, Zeek (Craig T. Nelson), admitting for the first time that his young son Max (Max Burkholder) has Asperger Syndrome. In fact, Max's entire storyline is handled with impressive sensitivity, especially considering that this could be scripted television's first story that specifically confronts the issue of parents and children dealing with the disorder.
It's hard to be sympathetic with Christensen, however. Julia is easily the show's the most stereotypical character: the workaholic lawyer who feels like she doesn't have the time to be a good mother to young Sydney (Savannah Paige Rae). Her plight is both the show's most bourgeois conflict and simplest solution — one wants to tell her to just shut off the Blackberry and be home for more bedtime stories. Julia is resigned to the way Sydney favors her father Joel (Sam Jaeger), but she still takes out her frustrations by being unnecessarily catty to Sarah.
Crosby, the youngest and least responsible sibling, is a sound engineer with commitment problems and a long−time girlfriend so ready to conceive that she purchased someone else's sperm. Shepard, who got his big break on MTV's "Punk'd" (2003−2007), handles the drama of "Parenthood" with surprising deftness. Crosby's storyline may prove to be the most intriguing; near the end of the first episode, Crosby is surprised to learn that an old relationship has yielded a young son.
But much in the way that "Modern Family" often attempts to shoehorn poignancy where it sometimes doesn't fit, the climax of the "Parenthood" pilot features an emotional payoff that doesn't quite feel earned. To the soundtrack of Bob Dylan's "Forever Young" (1974), the entire extended family — all thirteen of them — rallies behind Max to prepare for his Little League game. But with so many stories going on in this first hour, it can feel like some of these characters — especially the grandchildren — barely know each other.
For "Parenthood" to be what it's meant to be, it needs to mine the full potential out of its vast and talented ensemble. There are just enough scenes in the pilot in which some of the four central siblings interact, share problems, tease and offer support. But much of the show can feel like four or five smaller shows that have been awkwardly interwoven. Audiences need to be able to believe the Bravermans are a real family to understand what "Parenthood" means.
