This shouldn't really work. How often does the transition from comedy to film/TV come good anyway? The issue, usually, is that comedic personas can't just be switched off. They need grandstanding and constant approval; their timing comes from one-liners and punchlines spooled out at designated intervals. That's where they get their rhythm from. The crowd's applause forms their feedback loop. I'm not sure Ronny Chieng even has an off switch. He's 100%, all the time. But in spite of this, and despite a pathetic 6 episode order from ABC, in which season 1 basically acts as an extended pilot, Ronny Chieng International Student is more than watchable.
The college setting is a familiar one, a pretext to bring together Australia's cultural melting plot in that zany period between adolescence and full-blown adulthood. Anything can and will happen, as the old adage goes. Watching, I was inexplicably reminded of Community, with the same sense of unbridled energy and innovation. 'Extension Quest' frames Ronny's budding romance with Asher and his eagerness to help her out with an assessment as an old-school computer game; his mad dashing around campus syncs with the beat of an 8-bit music track, and each successful step flashes a pixelated new objective. It's a Dan Harmon bit (who actually put an entire episode into an 8-bit adventure game, amongst an array of other gimmicks), albeit underdeveloped.
The writing leans on some easy stereotypes - the washed-up professor, the Asian academic savant, the American frat-boy, the snobby private school kid - but there's an undeniable sense of freshness that just can't be replicated. Part of the reason why is that the show is pitched at a modern level, about modern issues and sensibilities. Unlike so many other sitcoms which still deal with stale airplane food, RCIS taps into a socially conscious culture and an audience that wants to have discussions about Asian representation and immigration, who are environmentally conscious but also like to poke fun at extremist versions of this ideology through prickly caricatures like Todd. There are elements of sly satire here that don't overly politicise the show (even if an Asian lead on Australian television is an inherently political statement) - they're just breadcrumbs to pick up on. Asian and Aussie fusion? Like oil and water, and yet Asher and Ronny are living proof of the concept.
Chieng surprises us. He writes his fictionalised self big shoes to fill for what is ultimately a too ambitious task - you can feel the show skipping ahead in its chronology just to match the conventional pacing of a full season. Zap - a crush develops. Zap - the villain turns face. But we learn to like these characters beyond their labels, and in this regard the show's biggest revelation is Chieng himself. For so long I had pigeonholed his comedy because he was the living, breathing embodiment of the angry Asian stereotype that Daniel presses onto him; and yes, there are moments where he is crass and profane, and seems to be merely monologuing in stand-up. But perhaps that was just me narrowing the definitions for Asian representation. There's undeniably a fully-fleshed character in there somewhere screaming for a second season, and we shouldn't dismiss this just because a heavy accent reminds us of a bad stereotype. This is a big step, even if we might not realise it yet.
The college setting is a familiar one, a pretext to bring together Australia's cultural melting plot in that zany period between adolescence and full-blown adulthood. Anything can and will happen, as the old adage goes. Watching, I was inexplicably reminded of Community, with the same sense of unbridled energy and innovation. 'Extension Quest' frames Ronny's budding romance with Asher and his eagerness to help her out with an assessment as an old-school computer game; his mad dashing around campus syncs with the beat of an 8-bit music track, and each successful step flashes a pixelated new objective. It's a Dan Harmon bit (who actually put an entire episode into an 8-bit adventure game, amongst an array of other gimmicks), albeit underdeveloped.
The writing leans on some easy stereotypes - the washed-up professor, the Asian academic savant, the American frat-boy, the snobby private school kid - but there's an undeniable sense of freshness that just can't be replicated. Part of the reason why is that the show is pitched at a modern level, about modern issues and sensibilities. Unlike so many other sitcoms which still deal with stale airplane food, RCIS taps into a socially conscious culture and an audience that wants to have discussions about Asian representation and immigration, who are environmentally conscious but also like to poke fun at extremist versions of this ideology through prickly caricatures like Todd. There are elements of sly satire here that don't overly politicise the show (even if an Asian lead on Australian television is an inherently political statement) - they're just breadcrumbs to pick up on. Asian and Aussie fusion? Like oil and water, and yet Asher and Ronny are living proof of the concept.
Chieng surprises us. He writes his fictionalised self big shoes to fill for what is ultimately a too ambitious task - you can feel the show skipping ahead in its chronology just to match the conventional pacing of a full season. Zap - a crush develops. Zap - the villain turns face. But we learn to like these characters beyond their labels, and in this regard the show's biggest revelation is Chieng himself. For so long I had pigeonholed his comedy because he was the living, breathing embodiment of the angry Asian stereotype that Daniel presses onto him; and yes, there are moments where he is crass and profane, and seems to be merely monologuing in stand-up. But perhaps that was just me narrowing the definitions for Asian representation. There's undeniably a fully-fleshed character in there somewhere screaming for a second season, and we shouldn't dismiss this just because a heavy accent reminds us of a bad stereotype. This is a big step, even if we might not realise it yet.
