Glee: A Chorus of Laughter

In 2004, ABC executive Lloyd Braun had the idea to remake the premise of CBS's Survivor — people stuck on an island — as a drama. Lost became a gripping fantasy that had little more in common with the reality hit show than the coconut trees.

If that could come of Survivor, what fruit might be born of the even bigger American Idol? Fox's answer: a musical-comedy series with current tunes and a young cast. Glee — debuting May 19 after Idol and then returning in the fall — is a delight but a risk: a devilish, exuberant comedy that manages to capture and subvert the Idol aesthetic at the same time.

Glee's creator, Ryan Murphy, specializes in lampooning American appetites. In his dark comedy Popular, he took on the desire for social status; in the plastic-surgery drama Nip/Tuck, the hunger for physical perfection. Glee is all about the timely teen dream embodied and fed by Idol, High School Musical and YouTube: fame, glorious fame.

Murphy sets up the comedy by giving this big idea a humble setting: the down-and-out glee club of William McKinley High School in Lima, Ohio. The school's once champion show choir has fallen on hard times, overshadowed by the competitive-cheerleading squad (whose coach is played with Pattonesque swagger by Jane Lynch). Restless Spanish teacher Will Schuester (Matthew Morrison) volunteers to bring back the chorus of misfits, like Charlie Brown nursing the most pathetic Christmas tree on the lot.

In need of talent — and believing popular kids will help recruitment — he plunders the football team for Finn Hudson (Cory Monteith), a quarterback with a secret penchant for singing in the shower. Will pairs him with his female lead, Rachel Berry (Lea Michele), a diminutive, driven diva who's the musical equivalent of Election's high school politician Tracy Flick. Upset that her glee mates are not taking their music seriously enough, she lectures them: "There is nothing ironic about show choir!"

There is, obviously, everything ironic about Glee: an upbeat chorus number set to Amy Winehouse's "Rehab" is the funniest thing I've seen on TV this year. But this raises the question of how good a match it really is for the Idol audience, who tend to like their glitter dreams earnest. Indeed, the jock-meets-music-geek pair-up is a straight lift from, and parody of, HSM.

What makes Glee more than sketch comedy, and what may save its commercial appeal, is that it is also an underdog story (not just about the kids but also idealistic music-lover Will) with heart. Like Ugly Betty's, its spoofing is bright, not dark. And with a well-chosen sound track and arch comedy, the pilot is just a giant basket of happy. If Murphy can flesh out the overly broad characters, this series could be a rare, sophisticated, joyous hybrid that gets to have its pop candy and satirize it too. As Randy Jackson might say, Glee's early tone is a tad pitchy. But this show works it out, dawg!