I think it is very sad that 'sitcom' has become a pejorative

Penelope Keith once spoke with quiet sorrow and deep reflection when she said: “I think it is very sad that ‘sitcom’ has become a pejorative term.” Within this lament lies not only nostalgia for a genre of storytelling, but a profound meditation on how culture forgets to honor the simple things that once bound hearts together. For what is a sitcom—a situation comedy—but the art of finding laughter in life’s ordinary trials? To call it lesser, to dismiss it as trivial, is to deny the nobility of joy, the craftsmanship of levity, and the wisdom of humor that comforts the weary soul.

In the ancient world, the philosophers knew that laughter was no mere luxury—it was medicine for the human condition. Aristotle himself declared that comedy held a mirror to the follies of mankind, showing us not the grandeur of gods but the truth of ourselves. In this way, the sitcom is heir to that noble lineage. Its stage may be a kitchen or a cramped apartment, yet within those walls are enacted eternal dramas: love, misunderstanding, pride, reconciliation. The laugh track, far from shallow noise, echoes the chorus of humanity—reminding us that even in our confusion, we belong together.

When Keith grieves that the word “sitcom” has grown pejorative, she mourns not merely for a genre, but for a cultural loss of gratitude. In her time, shows like The Good Life and To the Manor Born held a nation’s heart. They spoke of community, decency, and resilience—virtues dressed in laughter. To belittle them now is to sneer at the very simplicity that once gave us comfort. For laughter shared across generations is no small thing; it is a bond between souls, a candle lit in the dark corridors of modern cynicism.

Let us look to history for understanding. In the grand theatres of ancient Athens, tragedy and comedy were performed side by side. The audience would weep one evening and laugh the next, knowing both emotions were sacred. The tragedian taught the people to endure suffering; the comedian taught them to survive it. In our age, tragedy is still praised for its depth, but comedy—especially the familiar, domestic comedy—has been cast aside as lesser art. Yet Penelope Keith, who has lived both on stage and screen, knows that to make people laugh is no easy task. It demands timing, empathy, and truth. To laugh honestly is to heal.

The sadness in her words arises from a deeper concern: that in mocking the sitcom, we mock our own humanity. We grow too sophisticated, too ironic, too restless to laugh at the gentle absurdities of family and friendship. But when we lose the ability to laugh sincerely, we also lose the ability to forgive, to connect, to endure. The sitcom, in its purest form, teaches us that life’s chaos can be endured if faced with humor—and that reconciliation often begins with a smile.

Therefore, let her words stand as a gentle rebuke to the modern spirit: do not despise the humble forms of art that make you feel light again. Do not assume that laughter is inferior to sorrow, or that simplicity lacks depth. A sitcom, when crafted with heart, carries within it the wisdom of the hearth—the eternal teaching that even in conflict, we can choose compassion; even in pain, we can find levity. It does not seek to astonish, but to remind.

And so, the lesson of Penelope Keith’s lament is this: honor what brings people together. Celebrate the storytellers who dare to make the ordinary beautiful. For one day, when the great dramas fade and the epics grow tiresome, it will be the echoes of laughter—the shared, human laughter—that remain. The sitcom, like the fireside tale of old, is a bridge between hearts. Let us not forget that to laugh with others is one of the oldest and holiest acts of civilization itself.