The 25 Greatest Characters of the Last 20 Years
16. George Costanza- Seinfeld

Now that people only discuss Seinfeld in capsule reviews and “best of all-time” retrospectives, it’s easy to pigeonholeit. It seems as if any critic weighing in on it now is required by law to describe it as “a show about nothing.” As if, for the first time in the history of art, something became popular—and we can’t forget that Seinfeld experienced a mainstream popularity that is nearly impossible today—just because it was avant-garde. While it’s true that Seinfeld was less centered on contrived conflict than other sitcoms had been, we’re not talking about an Andy Warhol film here.

To understand why that “show about nothing” designation is meaningful, which I believe it is, it might be helpful to look at the work of Ferdinand de Saussure, the father of 20th century linguistics. His most important contribution to the study of language was his idea that we make meanings with the use of “signs.” Each “sign” is made up of two parts: a “signifier,” the way we represent an idea in language, and the “signified,” the branch we make between that signifier and the sign—the concept that word gets us to think of.

So right now I am looking at a tree through my window. The tree itself is a sign. I use the word “tree” to describe it because we both share that signifier. You use your knowledge of that word and idea of trees to combine the two and know what I’m talking about (signified). Of course, there are lots of different signifiers for this same sign. In French, it’s called an arbre; in Ancient Greek, it’s called a dentro. Language, in this way, is completely arbitrary, and it is an inadequate but necessary way to explain the signs around us. Without signifiers, you don’t have the signified. Without the signified, you don’t have signs themselves, and the whole world is meaningless. So on one hand, language is stupid, divisive, erratic, and unreliable. On the other hand, it’s the key to life. Good luck with that.

The truth is that Seinfeld both was and was not a “show about nothing.” It had enough conventional sitcom trappings to be comforting while presenting a handful of elements that marked it as antithetical to that medium. It was signified as a sitcom, but it presented a shitload of signifiers that marked it as something else/nothing. While Larry David and Jerry Seinfeld might not explain it this way, this is the best sitcom of all-time: They clearly knew something that the creators of Small Wonder did not.

Even if some people can’t articulate it, we all know the sign of a sitcom. There are three cameras, there are two principal locations, and there are A and B plot-lines. There is a studio audience. The four principal characters—one of whom might get wild applause for his signature entrances—neatly contrast with each other from their outlooks on life down to their wardrobes. All of the action takes place linearly, and all of the jokes take the form of setup from one character, followed by a punchline from a second that usually takes the form of a pun or verbal irony.

What part of that does Seinfeld not fulfill?* If we look at it that way, Seinfeld is not contradictory to the concept of a sitcom: it’s exemplary. Seinfeld and David intentionally presented all of these familiar elements to signify the piece as a sitcom.

At the same time, Seinfeld had signifiers that proved it was something else entirely. Like The Simpsons before it, Seinfeld’s comedy often came from recurring characters or from plot points held over from earlier episodes and seasons. This made the jokes seem more rewarding than a disposable line of sarcasm. Furthermore, the characters of the show were complicated by the well-worn fact that they were based on real people. “Jerry Seinfeld” was a comedian, but not necessarily the same person as Jerry Seinfeld. To make it even more meta, there were seasons in which the Jerry of the show-within-the-show was different from “Jerry” and was different from Jerry. Wings ain’t got nothing on this.

Sometimes the signified and the signifier clashed with each other in unpredictable ways. For example, the show’s ethos—uncaring people in an uncaring universe, who still run into each other because it’s figuratively such a small world—is profoundly rooted in New York. The show was filmed, however, in L.A. The viewers were able to look past this, especially if they had never experienced the sign of living in New York, because of the power of New York’s signifiers, which Seinfeld’s cabs, apartments, and steaming grates exploited.

While all of Seinfeld’s characters are memorable, the one that plays on this idea the most is George. For example, while most sitcoms’ characters are identified by their jobs—i.e., this is a legal comedy or a newsroom comedy—George is unemployed for the bulk of the series. While most characters in general are defined by their goals, George is devoid of ambition. He is anti-social, selfish, irritable, and pompous.

Above all, however, he is true to himself, and that’s why we forgive even his gravest sins. When he inadvertently kills his fiancee, then is relieved because her death means that he doesn’t have to marry her anymore, it’s funny. It’s dark, sure; but it produces a fond recognition in us that it was supposed to happen this way. That it could happen no other way. Seinfeld worked best when it operated at that level, and the key to its karmic justice is the notion that, all ironies and incongruities aside, George will always be George.

It goes beyond that though. What Jerry Seinfeld and Larry David (in a character based on himself) captured in George Costanza was a human emotion that has seldom been mined in sitcoms before or since: frustration.

In interviews about his comedy, Seinfeld always ends up citing two influences: The Honeymooners and Abbott & Costello. And if you combine what those two have in common, from Ralph Kramden’s bellicose nature to the stubborn wordplay of “Who’s on First?”, it’s frustration. And all of this brings us full circle. The sign of being frustrated is communicated with the signifiers of Jackie Gleason’s “to the moons!” and Lou Costello’s “I don’t even know what you’re talking abouts!”, and we fill in our own experiences of living in a world that doesn’t understand us. Out of something alienating comes something unifying. That’s what makes George Costanza special. He holds a mirror up to a world so cold that we need Gore-Tex coats, and he shows us that every cashmere sweater really has a big red stain on it.

In the years since Seinfeld, Jason Alexander, the man who played Costanza, has experienced some of the same celestial malpractice that his character faced. Although he probably isn’t hurting for money and is a sought-after name on Broadway, most of his screen efforts have failed since then. He is a victim of his own success. Only Jason Alexander could have played George, so Jason Alexander can only play George. No matter how much voice-work he does, people will call out someone else’s name when they see him on the street. (And even “Jason Alexander” isn’t his real name.) But something tells me that’s okay. Because words are arbitrary, but they hint at something that we all share. And what is life if not a tale “told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing”?

*- Yes, yes. They started playing with time in the last season, most notably with “The Betrayal” episode. I’ll grant you that.