Orange Is the New Black Is the New TV

A woman watching “Orange is the New Black”
(Caption By: someone who doesn’t watch “Orange is the New Black”)

If you’re not already watching, prepare to sentence yourself to thirteen hours of house arrest to marathon-watch Netflix’s fourth original full-season release, Orange Is the New Black.

Based on the jailhouse memoir by Piper Kerman—a Yuppie blonde, Smith graduate who served 15 months in a minimum-security Danbury, Conn. facility—the show is a smartly outrageous dramedy from “Weeds” creator, Jenji Kohan.

Rivaling cable in content and surpassing it in distribution, the graphic prison comedy follows Piper Chapman (Taylor Schilling)—incarcerated in connection with her ex-girlfriend’s international drug-running, and details the day-to-day lives of her fellow inmates—as well as the fiancé (Jason Biggs) and life she’s left on the outside. Yet, Piper is intentionally white-washed, her perspective paling in comparison with the rest of the impressively diverse ensemble, not often—if ever—seen on television.

Piper’s plight as the beige fish-out-of-water in a hellacious penitentiary pond is a luring device for viewers to explore and empathize with the other inmates, fulfilling its ambitious tagline: “Every sentence is a story.” Bravura performances abound: Natasha Lyonne has effectively rehabilitated her career as the ex-druggie, Nicky; Kate Mulgrew captains the kitchen as Red, the Russian chef; and Laura Prepon is flawlessly deadpan as Piper’s aforementioned girlfriend, Alex Vause. And that’s just the Caucasian talent. (“It’s not racist, it’s tribal.”) Michelle Hurst is riveting as the no-nonsense Miss Claudette; Uzo Aduba elevates Crazy Eyes/Suzanne beyond caricature; and Laverne Cox is a welcomed presence as the male-to-female transsexual, Sophia.

Orange avoids prolonged Oz comparisons by eliminating the temptation and expectation of gratuitous violence (though it’s still susceptible to shock value). Instead, it relies on the heartbreaking backstories and experiences of these murderers, thieves, and drug addicts, who are neither weak nor subhuman. They’ve found themselves behind bars due to a series of unfortunate circumstances. As Lauren Lapkus’ Officer Fischer intimates to Piper, they’re not that different, the prisoner and the officer: they’ve both made bad choices, but only one of them was caught.

I’ve made plenty of bad choices, so prison feels like an eventuality, with an 80-20 split between insurance fraud and murder. As a white girl without cornrows or a neck tattoo—but a deep desire for both—I imagine I’d be a Piper, in terms of acclimation: wifed (and possibly knifed) early. With a “get ripped, not raped” mindset, I’d have taxpayers subsidize my six-pack, in lieu of wasting $30 a month on unused gym Groupons. I’d try to find God, but He won’t make it easy, since everyone wears Waldo stripes behind bars. Though, once I find Him, I’ll pray for Taryn Manning’s Emmy win for her portrayal of Tiffany “Pennsatucky” Doggett, Piper’s Christ-loving nemesis. I recited a similar awards prayer for Manning after her heroic turn as “Friend” in Britney Spears’ Crossroads in 2002; I lost my faith shortly thereafter. In addition to bible study and working my way through the classics, Piper Kerman’s memoir will undoubtedly be at the top of my prison reading list, as both a study aide and spoiler source. So, to whomever’s waiting for me on the outside, feel free to break our TV promise and watch the last season of Breaking Bad—I know how OITNB’s second season ends.