Aliens In America

One of the nicer, milder new surprises on this year’s fall television schedule was probably the very show I’d most intended to avoid: Aliens in America. I’d seen a full-page ad for it in some magazine somewhere that managed to sum up the premise in one quick visual swoop—a dorky-appearing Muslim kid surrounded by a wholesome-looking family all giving him the hairy eyeball, as if they didn’t know quite what to make of his wacky hi-jinx. Ugh. To me, it looked like an update of the horrible Perfect Strangers, with a zany Muslim boy instead of Balki. On the CW, no less, where comedy goes to die.

So I was slightly surprised—and skeptical—when my friend 'Drew told me that the show was not only watchable, but tolerably good. Since at the time the pilot was available on iTunes for free, I decided to give it a shot. I found myself liking it far, far more than I ever thought I would.

The characters of Aliens in America are straight out of the stockpile of comic archetypes. There’s the slightly baffled father, the overprotective mother, the sister who’s just discovering the power of her teen-aged cleavage, and Justin Tolchuk, the pimply, nerdy protagonist who occupies that awkward and vulnerable stage after his voice has changed, but before he’s gained any self-confidence whatsoever. When Justin make the list of his high school’s Ten Most Bang-able Girls, his mother decides to reverse his negative image by hosting a cool exchange student. Except that they’re all shocked and scared to learn that the exchange student they’ve essentially bought in order to guarantee Justin’s popularity in high school isn’t a hip Swedish boy named Lars, but Raja, a Pakistani Muslim.

The show could have gone so easily off the rails at a dozen different points—it could have been a laugh-fest that poked fun at a goofy foreigner, or ignored it altogether and portrayed the Tolchuks as buffoons who are guided by Raja’s other-worldly wisdom. Instead the Tolchuks are all ditzy in their own way, and Raja’s a bit of a short-tempered stick in the ass who’s usually more crabby than enlightening. Yet because the writers love them all, they all manage to be agreeable and appealing without sludging through sticky-sweet syrup. The friendship between Justin and Raja has a definite nerd appeal. Neither are particularly socially adept. Their idea of a fine time is more likely to be dressing up in what are essentially red long johns with a dishtowel cape for after-school rocket club.

And my goodness, the show manages to shock me sometimes with its frankness about sex. From the pilot, in which bully twin brothers insist Justin must be gay for not ‘tapping’ his hot sister every night, to a later episode in which Justin uses Raja’s computer to look at porn . . . with an open shirt . . . and a wad of Kleenex and a bottle of hand lotion beside the desk . . . the show’s sometimes a compendium of raunchy humor that never quite oversteps its agenda of likability and sweetness.