Three reasons I love “Riverdale”
A month ago, in the middle of what would become the fourth season finale of “Riverdale,” teen mogul Veronica Lodge (played by Camila Mendes) took an informal poll: “Who has experience in getting rid of a dead body?” She and four of her five classmates raised their hands high.
Welcome to “Riverdale,” a little town with a big, dark heart and a hefty body count. Like the original Archie Comics that inspired it, “Riverdale” tells the all-American story of Archie Andrews (K.J. Apa), a red-haired high school jock with sensitive, guitardriven dreams; Jughead Jones (Cole Sprouse), his hamburger-obsessed, wannabe-writer pal; Betty Cooper (Lili Reinhart), the winsome blonde next door; and Veronica, the urbane brunette newcomer.
But the show’s relationship to those squeaky-clean comics is roughly that of “The Tell-Tale Heart” to a
Hallmark valentine. This is “Our Town” for kids who read “Goosebumps” under the covers. (The first four seasons stream on Netflix. A fifth season will appear on The CW whenever production resumes.)
Over four seasons, there are abundant breakups, makeups, too many milkshakes at Pop’s Chock-Lit Shoppe. And then there are the murders. So many murders. Not since “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” has a high school suffered such an attrition rate. The in memoriam section of the yearbook must be epic.
Mid-pandemic, my selfsoothing has mostly involved half-hour sitcoms that make me feel kind of OK about humanity. But I haven’t missed a single episode of “Riverdale.” A crazy show for a crazy moment, it somehow mirrors what America actually feels like right now — a hot mess with a bunch of high-stakes mysteries that don’t make much sense. Did I mention the lead seems miscast?
I also watch “Riverdale” for its unashamed camp, its kiddie-noir palette, its patyourself-on-the-back pop culture references and its casual inclusivity, which argues that anyone, regardless of race, gender, class, creed or ponytail, can help with body disposal. (Then again, Vanessa Morgan, who plays the girl-gang queen Toni Topaz, has noted, correctly, that “Riverdale” relegates most of its black cast to supporting work.) I am probably too old for “Riverdale,” but then again so are most of the actors playing teens. Fair’s fair. Here are three more reasons to see it.
1. Drama club. Terrible things happen in “Riverdale”! Almost every episode! Amid all the usual teen stuff — semiformal dances, college applications, pep rallies — these kids have found another extracurricular activity: untimely death. Which provides a funny kind of consolation. Because as bad as things are right now — and as I write this, in the middle of a global pandemic and an overdue national reckoning, with sirens blaring and police helicopters rotoring overhead, they are very, very bad — I would like to imagine that things are worse in “Riverdale.”
2. Sexy teens, sexy parents. In no reasonable world should Jughead Jones become a sex symbol. But who has ever called “Riverdale” reasonable? Even Jughead’s beanie — worn by Sprouse with moody aplomb — has been sexed up. A lot of the younger actors, like Apa, a man with the natural charisma of composite lumber, seem to have been cast for pout and jawline alone. This is not necessarily a complaint.
I’ve developed a deep and not exactly age appropriate affection for Sprouse, and I was genuinely disappointed to learn that he had recently broken up with Reinhart, and not only because (OK, only because) their characters date on the show. Bughead (Betty + Jughead) forever.
But in “Riverdale,” sexiness is not wasted on the young alone. The dads (Skeet Ulrich, Mark Consuelos, the very much missed Luke Perry) are hot. The moms (Mädchen Amick, Molly Ringwald, Marisol Nichols) are hot. Many of the teachers are hot, and some of them have problematic ideas about appropriate pedagogical relationships.
I once asked the show’s creator, Roberto AguirreSacasa, if he had deliberately made the show such a thirst trap. “Big time,” he said.
You’re welcome.
3. Musical numbers. Aguirre-Sacasa, who has written books for Broadway musicals such as “American Psycho” and the revised “Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark,” never met a diegetic number he didn’t like. Josie and the Pussycats performed throughout the first three seasons, including a cover of the Archies’ “Candy Girl.”
I can’t defend the music on “Riverdale,” especially as not all of the cast have pipes. I can’t defend much else about it, either. I can only sit back, sip my La Bonne Nuit mocktail and enjoy the fast, dumb, beautiful ride.