"Modern Family" has taken quite a rollercoaster ride in the initial months of its fourth season. There have been complete flops, interspersed with a handful of weeks that masterfully balanced humor and heartfelt moments, earning the show the accolades it's renowned for. And then there are episodes like last week's, which catapulted us onto a high-octane, often exceptional, comedy conveyor belt for an exhilarating twenty-two minutes. "Mistery Date," while undeniably amusing, leans heavily on the show's endearing charm. It offers ample laughter but stands out primarily as a Really Great Episode.
All members of the family have been plucked from their routine comfort zones. Phil kicks off his bachelor weekend by syncing the Dunphy abode to his iPad, beaming with pride at his ability to teleport himself to the distant future of 2025 AD, where swiping through Angry Birds 23 would precede starting up the hover-dishwasher. An even more intriguing carrot dangling at the episode's onset is Claire's gentle nudging of Phil to "go out and see some friends... promise me you'll go outside and play." Under normal circumstances, this would elicit in me a dual reaction: first, an exasperated "JESUS, Claire, leave the man alone!" followed swiftly by a "Dah, fooled again. You're fine, Claire." Further apologies for your character's puppeteers continually doling out such banal plotlines.
Yet, none of that arises here, as Claire and her entire snarky clan are served an unusual helping of empathy and kindness this week. Everyone's irritating, harsh edges are softened. Luke, disgusted, tells Manny, "It's like you've never heard boys talk," as Manny is devastated by rejection, not just for a dance but for the promise of a year-long season of high-stakes romances unfolding in high school gyms to the tunes of Carly Rae Jepsen. As soon as a blonde teenager flashes Manny a smile, he and Luke dive headfirst into a scheme to crash three Bar Mitzvahs themed "Jewish People Are Awesome." This episode is so benevolent, with its warm, fuzzy side, that Manny's romantic streak triumphs – momentarily. (The splendid closing credits featuring the photo booth are an added treat.)
At the inspiringly titled Academic Challenge, Alex and Claire (where in the world is college-dropout Haley, anyway?) grapple with the depths of Claire's helicopter parenting. Mama Dunphy is too preoccupied with parading her daughter's successes to remember she's there to support her. Alex exits early and earns the additional pleasure of enduring Claire's monologue about living her own life rather than through her children, casually dismantling background Academic Challenge questions throughout. "You know I'm in awe of you, right?" Claire sweetly tells Alex, just the perfect amount of time after flipping out at Alex's intellect with, "Are you freaking kidding me, Macedonia and Thrace, what even is that?!" But hey, it's heartwarming. She's a proud mom. After all, one of her kids has been questioning if he's part owl, and another is Haley.
Mitch and Jay find themselves entangled in a poignant parent-child struggle to comprehend one another, a battle all too familiar when your father is Jay, and your concept of a sports mantra stems from a beloved Peanuts cartoon. The tender moment when Jay, initially hesitant, ultimately embraces a colossal, fluffy bunny marks a turning point: His heart aches, yearning to connect. This poignant encounter encapsulates a universally relatable human dilemma as father and son forge a bond over the seemingly mundane sacrifice of a home office and a sliver of privacy to make room for a newborn. (It's worth noting how abruptly the show sidelined the Cam and Mitch's adoption journey. Sure, they "resolved" it, but did they really?) To soften the blow of losing that cherished space, Cam covertly commissions a colossal mural through his buddy Abelard (or "Averar," as Gloria affectionately calls him), a gesture adored by all despite Jay's initial exasperation, quickly giving way to a heartfelt, "I like it, thanks, kid."
The episode's clever title stems from an unexpected romance blossoming between Matthew Broderick (a nod to "Dave," Modern Family, but let's embrace "Ferris Bueller") and Phil. At the gym, Ferris, Cameron's gay pal (nicely aligning with Cam's weight loss journey), discovers a new racquetball rival in Phil. Cut to a bashful Ferris turning up at Phil's doorstep with spinach dip, unsure of the motive behind his visit. ("I'll tell you why: it's delicious, and you're an amazing guest—come on in!") Watching these two actors navigate this storyline is nothing short of magical. (Type "is Ty" into Google, and autocomplete suggests "Burrell gay?!!?"; whereas typing "is Matthew" leads to Broderick's sexuality being questioned only after Matthew Perry. Interesting, isn't it?) Unbeknownst to Phil, he inadvertently sets the scene for a cozy evening with his iPad, transforming the house into a warm, intimate sanctuary.
Kudos to the writers for bestowing Phil with perfectly pitched lines in one of those classic sitcom laugh-out-loud scenarios where two characters converse about entirely different topics, often a recipe for clumsy humor. "Don't worry, we have the house to ourselves; they're all out of town. I'm long overdue for a boys' night," Phil assures a perplexed Ferris, who has just learned his potential suitor is married with kids. Even the line, "As long as I clean up after this, [Claire's] fine," renders the conversation authentic and tailored for this cringe-worthy misunderstanding without resorting to eye-rolling innuendos. The dialogue starts to feel somewhat forced with the football-as-foreplay chatter, and the transition from shirt-soaking to shirt-removal is pure contrivance. A shirtless hug ensues… wait, are they heading to the bedroom? It's time to surrender to this plot twist. At least the episode maintains restraint, sparing us the melodramatic climax of Cam and Mitch walking in on Phil's house, mortified or overjoyed. Though, admittedly, I wouldn't mind witnessing that either.
One last thought: If Obama's second term agenda is still open for suggestions, could someone swiftly dispatch an email requesting a steady influx of Lily? Is weekly too frequent? Is she too young for such a commitment? Can't I politely advocate for preserving a 5-year-old's childhood in the name of a sitcom? What if she spins off into her own series?
