Sixteen years ago this week, Desperate Housewives premiered on ABC. 21.6 million people watched the first episode. Many compared the pilot to Sex and the City, with one critic prophetically declaring that it could “potentially replace the departed Sex and the City as the TV Sunday ritual for women and gay men everywhere, although DH is the guiltier pleasure of the two."

Goodbye Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha.

Hello Bree, Susan, Lynette and Gaby!

But the pilot’s success wasn’t always guaranteed. Like most overnight sensations, Desperate Housewives wound up on screen after a slog of rejections. CBS, NBC, Fox, HBO, Showtime and Lifetime all turned it down.

Marc Cherry (the show’s creator) said about that period of time: "I was broke, unable to get even an interview for a writing job, and seriously concerned about my future. I had just turned forty and was starting to wonder if I was one of those deluded writers that wander around, convincing themselves they're talented when all the evidence points to the contrary.” Sounds familiar.

After Cherry’s agent was arrested for alleged embezzlement (including $79,000 of his own cash), he signed with Paradigm Talent Agency, who urged him to rewrite his ‘30-minute dark comedy’ as a soap opera. Cherry reworked the script and pitched the series to ABC, who picked up the pilot. Silver linings, I guess.

For ABC, Housewives couldn’t have arrived at a better time. The network was floundering and needed a serious reversal in fortunes. Its ratings were tanking- save for cash-cow Who Wants to be a Millionaire- and things were looking desperate. Along with Lost and Greys Anatomy, the 2004-2005 season revised ABC’s prospects and also reminded viewers and broadcasters alike of the pleasures (and, more importantly for some, profits) to be found in new and original ideas for scripted television. Up to this point, Reality TV and Light Entertainment were dominating schedules, until they were was usurped by the campy antics of the women of Wisteria Lane and an island with smoke monsters and polar bears.

The floodgates seemed to open in 2004; the success of Housewives and other breakout hits sparked huge appetite for scripted hours on broadcast television. This was also the TV season that begifted us Veronica Mars and House, if Hugh Laurie doing a Golden Globe clinching accent is your thing.

These new batch of shows each offered compelling reasons to switch off reality series and revel in strongly etched characters and well-told stories. These shows generated huge amounts of critical and commercial success. At the height of its powers, Housewives was pulling in $2.74 million worth of revenue per half hour. Once again, scripted shows were money making machines. No one could have predicted it. In fact, network execs Llyod Braun and Susan Lyne were fired after greenlighting these risky and expensive pilots- with the first episode of Lost costing $13+ million, one of the most expensive in modern broadcasting.

For those who have been hiding under a white picket fence and haven’t the total pleasure of watching it (spoilers are present from here on out) Desperate Housewives follows the lives of a group of women (Susan Mayer, Bree Van de Kamp, Gabrielle Solis and Lynette Scavo) as seen through the eyes of their friend and neighbour, Mary Alice, who takes her own life in the pilot episode. Her friends try to find out the reason for her suicide, whilst dealing with the problems of their personal lives.

Very few TV shows have a first season like Housewives. It was an immediate hit, was nominated for 15 Emmy Awards, won six, made overnight stars of new talent like Eva Longoria, and its season finale was watched by over 30 million people in the US alone. It was a juggernaut.

Desperate Housewives didn’t maintain the level of ingenuity and quality of this stellar first season and its legacy has been overshadowed by rumours (and confirmation) of bitter feuds between cast members, a lawsuit, Felicity Huffman’s involvement in the college admissions scandal and Teri Hatcher’s Celebrity Bake Off win. Despite all this, episodes such as Season 3's ‘Bang’ in which all of the main characters are involved in a supermarket hostage situation (yes, really) are still examples of the best writing you’d find anywhere on mainstream television.

Like most relics of the 00s era, there are storylines that haven’t aged well at all, but for the most part the series keeps hold of the things that make it so brilliant: an electric cast, a tonal elasticity not matched by any show since, a devilish wit and subversive nature.

By the time it went off air, it was (and still is) the longest running hour-long television series featuring all-female leads, with 180 episodes. But I want to talk about the first one- the pilot. What made it so irresistible? What made 20 million people tune back in for episode two? I’m making the bold (and not at all objective) claim that Desperate Housewives is the most well-constructed, and more importantly, entertaining, first episode of television… ever.

What ingredients make it so? I thought you’d never ask.

1.) A Brilliant Mission Statement

Picture this: Los Angeles, 2002. Former Golden Girls writer Marc Cherry is broke, out of writing work, and living with his mother, Martha. One day, they were watching coverage of the tragic Andrea Yates trial together. As Cherry tells it, whilst the news broke that Andrea had been found guilty of drowning her children in the bathtub, he turned to his mother, horrified, "Can you imagine being so desperate that you would do that to your children?"

His mother, he says, took the cigarette that she was smoking out of her mouth and said, "I've been there."

He started writing.

It’s all well and good having the spark of a good idea. If we’re lucky, we might get a few of them in our writing careers. And the story engine of Desperate Housewives is good and simple- what’s the truth about Mary Alice?

Just over a minute into the pilot episode of Desperate Housewives, we’re thrown into one of the biggest TV mysteries of all time. Was Mary Alice’s seemingly perfect suburban life simply too much to deal with, or was there something far more sinister going on? I think, to a 2020 audience, there might be push back against this mode of storytelling- not every suicide is a mystery that can or should be ‘solved.’ But I’d suggest that it is what the Mary Alice storyline is trojan horseing in that made Housewives so compelling.

The idea that women like Andrea (and in turn Mary Alice) could lead the lives they wanted, taking on the role of mother, breadwinner and wife, but still be plagued by terrible secrets and quiet desperation is what grounds the more heightened aspects of the pilot. It’s this common theme that every single character on the show is juggling. They all have their secrets, they all have their burdens, their mental health issues, and they don’t always speak up about them until it’s too late. Unlike the characters of Sex and the City, who shared every sordid detail of their lives; Susan, Lynette, Gaby and Bree kept things from each other to their detriment. Housewives sets out from page one letting us know that it wanted us to question how much we really want to know about our neighbours.

It masked this goal in a whodunit, or to be more accurate, a whydunit. But the twists and turns of the mystery isn’t what makes the pilot brilliant, or the series bingeable. It’s watching a group of women shed their suburban facades behind closed doors that at the time felt revolutionary, largely because the comedic undertones set it apart from its cinematic cousins like American Beauty.

Desperate Housewives’ mission was to put every character flaw you could think of through its unique filter: adultery, addiction, manipulation, dangerous driving, seduction, jealousy, murder, revenge and don’t forget: nanny-poaching.

These women didn't always adore their kids and they weren’t selfless devotees to the ‘American Dream’ and their communities. Before Don Draper and Walter White were lauded as examples of the macho-centric antihero that has come to dominate our TV landscape, a group of women were, in a refreshing twist, the ones who filled these roles. Housewives was determined to exhibit tenacious, scurrilous women outside of the fantasy genre, or the wives of laugh-track sitcoms who fire zingers about their useless husbands. In its own subversive way, Desperate Housewives screamed with every fibre of its being that as long as women are expected to fulfil clear-cut roles, they would be pushed to all lengths to escape these stereotypes.

I’m sure every writer has had a certain note come back. It usually goes along the lines of: ‘I really like this, as you know. Feels like a great way in. My only thought would be, I feel like it needs something extra.’

As annoying as that might be when you’ve had a great idea, what that usually translates to is that the mission statement isn’t slapping everyone in the face. Everything I’ve just gone on and on about is there from page one of the Desperate Housewives pilot. It’s there from the very first voiceover when Mary Alice tells us:

“I made breakfast for my family, I performed my chores, I completed my projects, I ran my errands. In truth, I spent the day as I spend every other day: quietly polishing the routine of my life till it gleamed with perfection. That’s why it was so astonishing when I decided to go to my hallway closet and retrieve a revolver that had never been used.”

2.) Every Character Gets a Water Cooler Moment

One of the trickiest feats that the Housewives pilot pulls off is that you get to know each of its four leads characters equally. Not only does Mary Alice introduce everyone with typical sledgehammer subtlety through the medium of what food they bring to her wake, the pilot also carves out space for each member of the ensemble to shine. All the women have a showpiece scene that could be described as the most memorable moment of the pilot. Each set-piece also gives the audience a crystal clear insight into character, and who you’re going to spending each week with. Let’s break them down.

LYNETTE

Lynette (Felicity Huffman) is a former advertising exec, frustrated with raising four young children. She brings fried chicken.The pilot slowly pushes and pushes her to the end of her tether. Threatening to call Santa only gets her so far, and it’s clear that she’s drowning at home. At Mary Alice’s wake, her children jump into the pool in the backyard, causing havoc whilst she’s trying to breastfeed. But then she does something that tells us everything we need to know about her character- she gets into the pool, in her heels (obviously) and drags the little shits out of there.

As she wades in, the other neighbours stand around looking judgmental- a snapshot of what she has to deal with on what’s probably an hourly basis. It not only encapsulates the character’s spiralling situation, it’s funny, and demonstrates who Lynette is at her core- a no-nonsense, unorthodox and volatile mother, who is quite literally struggling to keep her head above water. Few moments introduce a character as successfully.

GABRIELLE

Before we get into this, let’s just caveat that the one aspect of the pilot that definitely isn’t perfect is Gaby’s relationship with her teenager gardener, John Rowland. Gabrielle (Eva Longoria) is a narcissistic, hilarious and egotistical ex-model who is struggling to reconcile her previous lifestyle with her mundane existence in the suburbs. To counteract the boredom and her inattentive husband, she’s struck up an affair with her sixteen-year-old horticulturist. Um.

It’s not the wake (she brings chilled gazpacho) that gives us Gabrielle’s defining moment. Later on in the episode, Gabrielle and her husband Carlos (Ricardo Antonio Chavira) are attending a swanky party. He’s pissed off that the front lawn hasn’t been mowed and wants to fire John. CONFLICT. Instead of letting that happen, Gabrielle flees the party and ends up mowing the lawn in her expensive (and very long) evening gown. It’s high camp, ludicrous and exceptionally enjoyable. It sets Gabrielle up as resourceful and manipulative, but also raises the stakes for her perfectly. If anyone discovers her affair, she’ll lose everything. It also gives her something to do. Like Lynette diving into the pool, it’s a physical and active demonstration of whats going on for her internally- something you want for your characters in your pilot.

BREE

Bree (Marcia Cross) is my favourite housewife. She’s one of the most complex and evolved characters on telly, but that’s for a different blog post. In the pilot, she’s a perfectionist homemaker (she brings baskets of muffins to the wake and she will need the baskets back afterwards) who feels unappreciated by her family, and is shellshocked when her husband Rex (Steven Culp) tells her, whilst they’re out to dinner, that he doesn’t “want to live in a detergent commercial anymore” and asks for a divorce.

Mortified that this has unfolded in an establishment that labels its restrooms “chicks and dudes” Bree goes to fix Rex a salad. The only trouble is, Rex is deathly allergic to the onions she piles on top. The moment speaks deeply to her character. As someone who has clearly built her entire existence on paying close attention to the details, it lets us know just how adrift Bree is underneath her pasted on smile. And as Rex goes into anaphylaxis, Bree is left wondering was she distracted, or was it a deliberate act of malice?

It’s an interesting provocation, and as she sits at Rex’s bedside he tells her he longs for the woman “who used to burn toast and drink milk out of the carton” and it’s clear that Bree also longs to be that person too, she just can’t get out of her own head long enough. It’s a contrast to Gabrielle’s frantic landscaping, and one that sets Bree out as the series’ emotional compass.

SUSAN

Susan (Teri Hatcher) brings a mac and cheese to the wake that tastes both burned and undercooked. She’s a newly divorced, single mother and a clumsy, likeable, hopeless romantic. She’s the character we’re meant to root for. Every ensemble show has a character that’s the eyes of the audience- the every human- and that’s Susan. She’s the most recognisable, and is the one who is most invested in finding out what was going on with Mary Alice. She’s our entry point.

Her water cooler moment comes when she burns fellow neighbour, and love rival, Edie Britt’s (Nicollete Sheridan) house down. This does push the limits of Susan’s ‘adorable and kooky’ persona, but that only serves to highlight how important casting is- Teri Hatcher makes light work of a moment that could easily be declared ‘too much’ for an opening episode. In another universe, I imagine this moment getting cut during a round of notes and ‘saving’ the story until later, but Susan accidentally burning down the house of her frenemy in the very first episode works because it’s a moment of crisis that highlights exactly (forgive me) how desperate she feels. Her idealistic view of romance literally causes a house to burst into flames. Which brings me on to my next point…

3.) Romance!

Does a pilot have to set up a romance between two of your leads? No. Does it help? Yes. In Housewives, the job of getting our hearts fluttering goes to Susan and Mike (James Denton).

These stories are the backbones of some of the best shows on television, but they’re also done to death. And if you build a huge arc around a couple that the audience just doesn’t want to invest in, it can make for arduous viewing. The big danger is that you’re a Carrie and Aleksandr Petrovsky rather than a Kermit and Miss Piggy.

A lot of it does come down to chemistry, but Susan and Mike work on Desperate Housewives for two other reasons, both of which are there in the pilot.

THE MEET CUTE IS CUTE

Susan and Mike first cross paths at Mary Alice’s wake, where Susan attempts to stop Mike from eating her terrible afore mentioned Mac and Cheese. This type of meet cute is a classic- the Good Samaritan- the love interest charges in to save a stranger because she knows he’ll most likely get food poisoning, but she doesn’t expect to lose her heart in the process.

This interaction remembers that it’s not just the meet cute between the characters, it’s the meet cute between the audience and the characters, too. It’s the first time we see Mike- and after spending a few minutes with his character on screen- most people want him to come over and snake their drain. This is a tale of suburban housewife meets hunky neighbourhood plumber- to be honest it’s the stuff of bad porn. But none of this matters because the pilot successfully uses this first encounter to create the fireworks that makes the audience believe that these two characters are meant for each other.

This is so important, because if it falls flat, there’s a good chance the audience will emotionally checkout. The best meetings between characters are the ones that give you insight into how they’re going to have a ripple effect on each other’s lives.

However, the pilot also has the job of setting up the external factors and internal conflict that will keep the characters apart despite their mutual desire for each other.

A MYSTERIOUS PAST

The other reason the romance works in the pilot is because just as we are starting to root for Susan and Mike to get together, the rug is pulled. As the end of the episode draws to a close, it looks like Susan and Mike are destined for the typical will/they won’t they journey, until Mike gets home, removes a gun from his jacket and receives a mysterious and dangerous sounding phone call. Uh oh.

This gives the story an extra level. By tying Mike to the central mystery, it raises the stakes for the couple. Not only are we now invested in whether or not these two lovers will ever shack up together, but the story actually becomes about whether or not they can trust each other. As Mike’s shady behaviour increases, Susan begins to doubt him and starts behaving shadily herself. It’s the perfect reason to keep them apart and maximise the tension later on.

4.) Tone

We’re not sure of the tone of it. On paper, Housewives is part comedy, part drama, part telenovela and part insanity. Having said that, what set the pilot apart was its voice. it’s easy to forget now that shows like Dead to Me, Pretty Little Liars and Good Girls have followed in its wake, but back in 2004 this type of tonal diversity wasn’t a staple. Tom Shales of The Washington Post praised the pilot, assessing, "In visual style, witty language, borderline surrealism and overall mad attitude, [the series] stands on a mountaintop all its own, the best new drama of the season and perhaps the best new comedy, too.”

The show was originally pitched as a comedy, but none of the networks were interested. When it was re-pitched as satire, suddenly it found a home. Perhaps gatekeepers were scared that people would tune in, get freaked out by the indiscriminate emotional chords and flip over to something safe. But the fantastic thing about Housewives is that it stretches from sharp satire to soap opera to sentimentality and back again. The success of the pilot is a lesson in holding on to your style and pushing the boundaries of comedy and drama.

5.) A Great End of Episode Hook

In the closing moments of the episode, in a box of Mary Alice's clothes, the women discover a blackmail note. It’s all very I Know What You Did Last Summer, but it’s a hook that propels us into the next episode with a hell of a lot of questions. What did Mary Alice do? Who sent the note? Was it someone on the street? Should they tell her creepy husband, Paul, about it? It allows for the story to go in a hundred different directions, and that’s why it’s such an effective closing moment for a pilot.

It’s also a hook that ties into the wider thematics of the pilot: people struggling behind closed doors and keeping up the pretence that life is hunky dory. By having a great twist that’s rooted in the emotional mechanics of your story, it guarantees that people are going to want to know what the hell happens next.

*

So that’s enough from me!

Was Housewives as a whole perfect? No.

What about the pilot? Now, that’s as perfect as Bree Van De Kamp’s coiffed hair.

Love Ben

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ONE OTHER THING!

Each time I do one of these, I'll highlight something that might be of interest. This week, I finally got around to watching The Rise of the Murdoch Dynasty- equal parts chilling and fascinating. All three parts are available on BBC iplayer here.

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