Before it's premiere, everything about "Velma" seemed tailor made for a blerd like me; a pre-Mystery Inc. Velma-centric origin story, color-blind casting (its title character, Daphne, and Norville all get a race shake-up), Velma out and proud, and a more adult tone allowing for darker mysteries and riskier humor. The ingredients were all there, prepped and ready to blend up and serve. Yet, the resulting smoothie tastes like ass, has no nutrients, and somehow gave me food poisoning.
Mystery is My Mistress.
Series for the iconic mystery solving detectives, known as Mystery Inc. (although they usually also star a lovable, ravenous, talking dog) have been airing for over 50 years. The shows have typically followed the "gang" as they set out in the Mystery Machine to solve crimes and unmask criminals out for revenge (or just going toe to toe with really competitive real estate agents...looking at you 1980s) The once titular character, Scooby-Doo, is rarely without his best pal and fellow foodie Shaggy, team leader and master monster trapper Fred, bold, empathetic, fashion forward Daphne, and, of course, "the brains", whose laser-focused intellect and initiative to collecting clues steer the gang in the right direction of solving said mysteries: Velma.
Throughout her various incarnations, Velma is usually portrayed as a highly intelligent, young, white woman with at least a passing interest in (if not a bottomless pit of knowledge on) nearly every topic under the sun. But how she wears and uses that intelligence varies (more than I remembered) from version to version, depending on the decade, and who's writing her.
As a child (in 1988's A Pup Named Scooby Doo), Velma is a shy, ridiculously cute, child prodigy who speaks in a range from squeak to whisper, almost exclusively to point out clues and solve the case. It's the introduction to her soon to be catchphrase "Jinkies!" and a stark contrast to the bespectacled, slightly clumsy, resident genius audiences were introduced to in 1969. '69 Velma is talkative—spitting facts about nearly everything and everyone she comes into contact with—insatiably curious, and gaga for mysteries. She's a serious, all business, hyper rational skeptic with the occasional one liner or pun, often poking fun at the rest of the gang for their lack of knowledge (or Shaggy for his cowardice). But the jabs are benign. Can't say the same for '70s Velma, who "well actually's" the gang to death. This version is Hermione Granger levels bookish, and quite reckless, willing to sacrifice anything and anyone to solve a mystery. She begins giving her signature summations in the mid '70s (a role she and Fred later share) though they get longer and more complex throughout the years, with listeners in some cases visibly struggling to keep up.
Aside from A Pup Named Scooby Doo, where the gang is portrayed as elementary aged children, there's less variation in the character throughout the '80s and '90s. For most of the '80s, she's bookish but less of a know it all, suspicious (of both people and places), and values logic and reason above all else, believing any anomaly can be explained. (It's during this time Scooby and friends begin to face-off more with real monsters rather than criminals in masks.) Many of the '90s versions of the show take on a slightly darker tone, so Velma maintains her wit but no longer utilizes puns or wordplay.
Most of the 2000s saw a return to form for the character, more practical and slightly more pessimistic, but very reminiscent of her '69 self. I noticed this version is also more patient than her '90s counterpart, responding to Shaggy's cowardice with understanding (or reverse psychology) rather than a snide remark or crossed arms. (She also says "Jeepers!" instead of "Jinkies!" during this era.)
The 2010s was the Wild West for old Velms, with nearly every iteration of the character being the opposite of the previous one. Early 2010s Velma is quick witted and sarcastic and given a more teenaged “I’m over it” vibe—more side eyes, more eye rolls, and more easily irritated. She’s also more purposely flawed. '70s Velma is incredibly flawed—prone to putting others in harms way for own gain, and prioritizing solving the mystery over other people’s wants or feelings. But it's never framed as a flaw. Early 2010s V, however, is sly, secretive, sometimes rude, which she’s called out on by Daphne. Often. But by 2015, Velma is mostly portrayed as less confident, self deprecating, and socially inept. This version—my least favorite by the by—is often the shadow to Daphne's light, resolved only when Daphne shines some of that light on her. And by the end of the 2010s, Velma is more akin to her early 2000s self; brainy, of course, but patient and kind without resorting to putting herself down to uplift others. She’s confident and gets off a one-liner without being cruel. The addition and main flaw of these versions are typically a more competitive spirit, particularly with those who can match her wits or manage to out smart her, and stubbornness, unwilling to quit until the mystery is solved, regardless of the dangers. She remains this way through the 2020s with one outlier: 2022 Velma is here, queer, thirsty, and DTF. (Coco/Velma shippers know what I’m talking about.)
*SPOILERS FOR "VELMA" THE SERIES FROM THIS POINT*
And He Wasn't Even a Puppy; He had a Gland Disorder.
Now that we know how we got here, let's see what we got; So, Velma is the fourteenth incarnation of the Scooby-Doo franchise, developed by Charlie Grandy (who isn't getting nearly enough of the flack) and executive produced by Mindy Kaling. Unlike previous iterations, the more adult-oriented series serves as an origin story for the titular Velma, the unsung and under-appreciated brains of the Scooby-Doo gang. The series leaves behind the mystery of the week style of its predecessors in favor of two over arching mysteries, slowly pieced together over the course of the season (to its detriment...but we'll get to that). From the premiere episode, the series makes it abundantly clear that this ain't your mama's (or your grandmama's) Scooby gang. Velma will be scarier, bloodier, and edgier than its source material, kicking off not just with a murdered high school girl, but one with her brain cut out of her oozing corpse by a next-level serial killer. But Velma is already in the middle of a mystery of her own: investigating her mother's disappearance. And any attempts to probe into the new mystery causes hallucinations of Velma’s mother morphing into some kind of harpy from hell—likely intended to symbolize anxiety in the most disturbing way possible.
If you didn't watch the show (or don't plan on watching the show) here's a quick breakdown: "It starts with a murder, b*tch," Velma's voiceover helpfully informs. And indeed it does. The story opens with the de-brained dead body of a student named Brenda. When Velma (Mindy Kaling) and Norville (Sam Richardson—this version's "Shaggy" goes by his given name) follow tracks that lead them to Fred (Glen Howerton), Fred—heir to the Jone's ascot fortune—is arrested by Daphne's (Constance Wu) cop mothers. Despite Velma's protestations, Velma's father, a lawyer, agrees to represent Fred's case. Meanwhile, Velma turns to Daphne and her cop connections to gain access to her mothers cold case files, and some shenanigans lead to Velma discovering Daphne is a drug dealer. Daphne does eventually give Velma the files...as well as a steamy af kiss (while Norville creepily watches from across the street).
At court, Velma's dad fails spectacularly and Fred is sent to jail. Norville, utilizing his father's therapy skills, visits Fred to uncover the truth, but this leads nowhere. And a new headless dead teen leads to Fred's release.
After a full (totally wasted) episode spent on the girl's of Velma's school being ranked by their hotness, then taught by Velma how to de-hot themselves to escape being targets for murder (plus some shallow messaging about what feminism is really about), Daphne gets closer to finding her biological parents (forgot to mention, Daphne is looking for her biological parents) who are ex/possibly current criminals hiding in an abandoned theme park's crystal cave disguised as Captain Cave Mans. Norville gets a girlfriend. And Fred inexplicably becomes obsessed with getting Velma to fall for him.
Velma learns the last person who spoke to her mother before she went missing was Norville's grandmother, a neurosurgeon turned mad scientist with an affinity for removing brains. And we learn the connection between this, Velma's mom, and the brainless hot chicks may lie in the mad scientist's lab, discovered to be under Fred's mansion (once owned by Norville's grandmother). There, Velma finds a note that reads "Jinkies" and a phone number on the back that leads her to the town's annual Festival.
Disguised as a man, Velma heads to the Festival to track down the killer. There's a subplot where Velma feels more heard as man (insert another dated message about feminism instead of what could've been a really poignant examination of Velma feeling more comfortable in her skin as a man). Velma doesn't find the killer, but does find their phone just before Fred gets kidnapped.
Fred awakens in a cave with the brains of the dead hot chicks (still in tact and in glass jars of liquid, Futurama style). Meanwhile, Daphne and Velma track the killer to the woods and eventually to the killer's lair where Fred is being kept. While rescuing Fred and the brains, Velma falls into a crack only to be rescued by the person she's spent her life searching for: her mom (in one of the show's few moment's of genuine sincerity, so, kudos).
Velma's mom, Diya, suffering from amnesia, returns home. Velma and her dad try to keep dad's new girlfriend and baby a secret. Velma, for some reason, pretends the baby is hers and that Norville is the father. Velma is her usual taking-advantage-of-Norville self, so fed up, he ditches Velma. Meanwhile, at school, Daphne and Fred lose their popularity which makes Fred suicidal. This leads to Fred having an existential crisis about one day inheriting the family business. To prove his worth, he creates a new company logo; hippie looking flowers he paints all over a van. (You see where this is going.)
Diya gets her memory back and becomes convinced she's the serial killer de-heading hot chicks. She confesses she did it because she wanted to put the brain of a popular girl into the body of her daughter. But Velma figures out that her mom is innocent and she's just been brainwashed. The real killer is Fred's mom, on a quest to find her son a better brain. (I've never rooted for a serial killer more.) The shows ends with the still not Mystery Inc. gang getting keys to the city...then using those keys to beat the sh*t out of each other.
Kinda Makes You Nostalgic for the Homicidal Creatures, Doesn't It?
Let's get this out of the way: This isn't a case of “not my Velma", as I watched, just, like, so many versions of the character in preparation for this piece that weren't necessarily "mine" but were just as delightful. I even discovered a different version of the character that I enjoyed more than the versions I grew up with. (It's called Scooby-Doo, Mystery Incorporated and it's effing great.) So, no, this isn’t my nostalgia talking. I also won't be touching on the changes to the characters' sexualities (It's been done before) or the characters' races. (I support those decisions. Period.) But I also won't be patting the show on the back simply for being diverse. If that's the bar, we need to raise it.
It's easy to see where Velma pulls its influences as the ultra snarky, side eying, condescending version of the character didn't begin with Mindy Kaling. While I can't pin point its exact origins, I first noticed the seed of this version in 2010s Scooby-Doo, Mystery Incorporated, also the first version of the mystery gang that actually felt like real teenagers—hormones and all—and as a result Velma displays some serious checked-out vibes. This version of the Velmster has a no nonsense, slyness about her. She's sassy, sarcastic, eye rolly, bordering on rude, and wears it all as a badge of honor. Velma simply takes that seed, plants it, grows a tree, then sets that tree on fire.
Most of my inability to fully engage with show stems from the main character the series revolves around. This Velma is equal parts self-absorbed and self-deprecating, and it takes eight (of ten) episodes for her to show even a hint of charm. Which, for me, also makes it difficult to comprehend why anyone would want to befriend her or be romantically interested in her, especially when she repeatedly sidelines them in favor of her own priorities or uses them for her own gain. Every member of the gang is dealing with their own issues, and each of them make an attempt to vent to Velma. She ignores them, again and again, and we, the audience, are supposed to see this as humorous.
Because this version of not-yet-Mystery Inc. doesn't follow a mystery of the week style format, (which is a shame as the pacing would've greatly benefited from one), there are full episodes that meander, where nothing is learned or discovered, solely meant to serve as bridges between the characters. But they ultimately do nothing to make it believable that this disparate group of kids could one day be friends on the road solving mysteries together. In the original '69 series, the entire mystery gang, at the very least, had curiosity in common. Even Shaggy and Scooby show interest, ask and answer questions and are genuinely intrigued…until the monsters show up. They all contribute something to the team in their own way and it's easy to understand why this group of people would be friends despite their clashing personalities. Can’t say the same Velma.
In the pilot episode, we learn Velma is an antisocial, judgmental, mean spirited, snark machine; Daphne is a thrill seeking drug dealer with anger management issues; Fred is an oedipal sociopath (“No one watches me pee the way mom does,” he laments.) And Norville is a lovesick puppy/pushover pining for Velma from across the street. For too many episodes, the characters' wft-ness and utter disrespect toward one another made me actively root against their eventual friendship. And how they do finally end up together is so contrived; It doesn't come from a shared interest, or an affinity for one another, but pure coincidence and circumstance.
That isn't to say there are no bright spots.
This version of "Shaggy" bears little resemblance to any version of the character we've seen, but in this case that's not a bad thing. This version is more complex than "hungry" and "scared" which I found refreshing. Throughout my Scoobydooathon, I noticed that Shaggy and Scooby see the least, if any, change between 1969 and 2022. Shaggy is generally chill and maintains his hippie-like speech patterns long after it stops being appropriate (which is probably what makes it so iconic). He's defined by his bottomless appetite and disinterest in all things spooky, kooky, and ooky until he eventually takes on a new trait: monster bait.
Norville is no Shaggy. He's a kind hearted, underestimated, mixed-race kid still finding himself. He spends the first few episodes trying use his father's therapy techniques to get information from Fred, then after realizing his father is a total pushover, he tries being a "bad boy" on for size—which for him entails stealing a leather jacket from a knock-off build-a-bear bear (which fits his ultra slim frame like a glove) and spray painting graffiti that just reads "Graffiti, signed Norville." He then tries being a boyfriend to fellow student Gigi, but fails at that too. It was probably the most nostalgic I felt in my entire viewing, having spent my own teen years trying on various styles and vibes like hats. (Thank god "era's" weren't a thing back then).
The voice cast is also top notch. Sometimes, already established actors have a habit of simply speaking like themselves in voice roles, but every single member of the cast gives it their all, elevating the material above what it deserves. Nicole Byer as Blythe Rogers and Glenn Howerton as Fred Jones are particular bright spots. Also, the animation slaps.
And the show does both calm down and perk up toward the end, with some smile-inducing nods to the original series in the score, and with sight gags (like characters running from door to door in a single hall). By episode eight, Velma does finally get called out on her bullsh*t, leading to a heart-warming moment. Unfortunately, I had to sit through some painfully unfunny one-liners and insufferable characters to get there. (Justice for Fred!)
And therein lies my biggest problem with Velma, and it's such a simple one: It just isn't funny. Gross out gags, controversial jokes, a reliance on violence or gore for shock value, or even sexualized teen characters are par for the course in adult animation. (There's an episode of Netflix's Big Mouth in which a child character f*cks a pillow resulting in said pillow getting pregnant. So, you know, I've seen worse.) Those weren't the things that turned me off to the show. It was purely the humor, which felt like a boomer TikToker's version of "cool kid". Even its notes on feminism and womanhood are nothing more than on the nose observations that were already dated a decade ago. (You mean to tell me feminism is allowing anyone who identifies as a woman be whatever and whoever she wants? Mind...blown.)
What I found most baffling is what even enticed Charlie Grandy, Mindy Kaling and company to tell this story, this version of Velma, who offers nothing new to the franchise, nothing new to adult animation, to female led comedy, and comedy in general, as referential, "meta" humor has definitely run its course. "Viewers are bored with the artistic laziness of [Kaling's] plotlines—both in their repetitiveness and their reliance on outdated stereotypes," says Izzy Ampil in her piece for Buzzfeed News, The Mindy Kaling Backlash Has Lost All Nuance. "It’s certainly a sign that Kaling’s comedy has gotten stale...When a young brown girl appears onscreen in one of Kaling’s shows, it’s easy enough to guess where her story is going. She will probably be a loud-mouthed nerd with strict parents and insecurities about her body hair." And while Kaling herself isn't in the writer's room for Velma, her fingerprints certainly are since that's exactly what we get with Velma. And it's no longer (if it ever was) as fun or as clever as she and the Velma team seem to think it is. After each and every episode I found myself asking the same question: What were the creators even trying to do?
To wrap up this beast, I would just like to make one thing clear: Velma doesn't ruin Velma. She persists—probably in more forms than you know. And there's a Velma out there for everyone. I have mine. Which one's yours?
.5/5 ⭐: Watch literally anything else.
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