As with pornographic films, what those who watch Glee really want is the money shot. There may be far fewer naked people – although the first episode of the second season did have lascivious shots of two shirtless (allegedly) teenage boys – but you still don’t really care about the bits in between the songs, which are all trite teen drama with a smart-mouth twist. No, the moment the plumber (geeky teenager) appears on the scene with his wrench (sheet music) is what gets the nerves tingling.
And so this episode proved, and so probably will the season prove. In case you care about the bits in between the songs, the scriptwriters appeared to have taken one noticeable characteristic for each character and magnified it, so that they are funnier but flatter than last season. Rachel (Lea Michele), the female lead, has gone even more Norma Desmond on us and started to try and kill potential rivals (“It wasn’t an active crackhouse”), while Finn (Cory Monteith) becomes more sincere and Kurt (Chris Colfer) appears to have walked right off the Paris spring-summer 2011 catwalk. Sue Sylvester (the ever-excellent, vinegary Jane Lynch) and Will Schuester (Matthew Morrison) team up against the new football coach, but Will is too noble to continue the vendetta. Can we get to the music?
The musical numbers, as described by Mr Schu in a pre-credits vlog, are “25 per cent showtunes, 25 per cent hip hop, 25 per cent classic rock”, which makes me glad he teaches Spanish, not maths, but also adds to the formulaic nature of the show, like a box of Quality Street left over from Christmas. Last night we had Gaga’s "Telephone" in the toilets, "Billionaire" by Travie McCoy as sung by the new quarterback (the actor's name is Chord Overstreet, if you can believe it), "Empire State of Mind" by the full company in the playground, a performance of "Listen" from Dreamgirls with poor diction (this was the strawberry cream) and Rachel performing "What I Did for Love" with the sort of martyrdom complex that leads nowhere nice. There was something for everyone, with the glossy perfection of performance we've come to expect.
So apart from the sex – sorry, the songs – what is Glee for? It feels like a safe suburban sitcom of the Fifties with 21st-century issues. Thus, instead of not being given enough of an allowance to go to the fair, cheerleaders have babies or gay teens come out. No one – not even nasty Sue Sylvester – is beyond redemption. Glee is as much an affirmation of your perfection as going home to mummy, a comfort blanket for the distressed teenage soul. It pretends to be mean-spirited and its characters suffer trials that supposedly make them wiser, but – like pornography – there’s always a happy ending.
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