Commentary : STANDARD-MODEL SITCOMS ARE BECOMING THE ORDER OF THE EVENING

Seriously, are sitcoms supposed to be funny?

The issue came up on a recent Wednesday during lunch with a friend, as he recounted certain sitcoms he had happened upon the night before.

One had a buzzed-cut, bespectacled nerd as a supporting player. Another had a fat boss. Both starred stand-up comics whose first name is John. But which show’s hero was a sports columnist? Which show had the blond wife and the nice living room?

Then, the friend began trying to remember the story lines, and here he really stumbled. “Good Life” and “Second Half”--less than 18 hours later, he couldn’t recall much of anything that happened, much less which show it happened on.

His inevitable conclusion: What a pair of wretched sitcoms!

Then, the friend turned to a third sitcom, the premiere of “These Friends of Mine,” starring standup comic Ellen DeGeneres (which continues Wednesdays on ABC).

He condemned “Friends” as a shameless rip-off of “Seinfeld,” even down to its billing (“A new comedy about ... whatever,” as opposed to “Seinfeld,” which, of course, glories in being about ... nothing).

His inevitable conclusion: Another wretched sitcom!

But wait. Could it be that the indistinguishable nature of the sitcoms he watched, and their forgettability, aren’t shortcomings after all?

Perhaps it’s a good thing, not bad!

Maybe it’s what the producers set out to accomplish for the viewers. Maybe it’s what viewers--most of them, anyway--look for when they tune in.

Sure, funny is the promise sitcoms make to the viewer, at least officially. But cigarettes promise pleasure and satisfaction, while what they actually deliver is a nicotine hit and something to do with your hands. Which is what the smoker wants. It’s all understood.

What, then, does the sitcom viewer really want, and get?

“The best comedy series have made us feel that we have made new friends whom we invited into our homes every week,” advises Jurgen Wolff in his how-to book, “Successful Sitcom Writing.”

You heard it from an expert: The viewer seeks out comfort and community, in non-demanding, 30-minute doses. Certainly every sitcom, not just the best ones, come standard with a comfortable circle of friends. And if the comfort level is sufficiently high, laughs are unimportant.

But Wolff is wrong about one thing. The sitcom viewer doesn’t invite these virtual friends into his home. On the contrary, he teleports into theirs.

The sitcom viewer doesn’t ask to take something away from the experience, but to leave something behind: 30 minutes’ worth of consciousness. The level of the jokes doesn’t matter, as long as they come thick and fast. The story matters even less.

Of course, there are sitcoms that reach a little further. Overachievers--”Roseanne,” “Cheers” and “MASH,” to name just three--are celebrated by critics as what sitcoms should be.

But maybe those critics are wrong. Instead, maybe “Gilligan’s Island” and “Full House” --programs every critic loves to hate--are what sitcoms should be.

And what they are, without fail. That is, whether it’s “Petticoat Junction” or “All in the Family,” a sitcom traffics in escape and effortless friendship. What thrills the critics are luxury options such as wit and intelligence, but the truth is, any sitcom drives fine without them.

Decades after you first saw it, you may still smile at the thought of racist Archie Bunker being trapped on an elevator with a black man. You may still savor a 20-year-old joke from “Mary Tyler Moore” (overweight Rhoda eyes a piece of candy and wonders aloud, “Should I eat this or just apply it directly to my hips?”).

But if you can’t remember the sitcom you saw last night--gee, it must have really been good!