ABC’s new “Scrubs” revival starring Zach Braff and Donald Faison may look the same, but it doesn’t feel the same. You should watch the rebroadcast.
First trailer for ‘Scrubs’ starring Zach Braff, Donald Faison and Sarah Chalke
Eaaaaaglleee landed on the floor of the Sacred Heart. See Donald Faison and Zach Braff in the first trailer for the ‘Scrubs’ revival (ABC, February 25).
Some things stay dead.
That’s what I felt intuitively after watching four episodes of ABC’s revival of the classic hospital sitcom “Scrubs.” The show aired for eight well-known seasons on NBC from 2001 to 2009, and one poorly rated season on ABC from 2009 to 2010. Sixteen years later, there’s an almost laughable fervor in Hollywood for a reboot, and we’re in the midst of a million random T-Mobile ads starring Zach Braff and Zach Braff. Donald Faison nostalgically capitalized on his most famous role, and ABC decided to revive the show. Unfortunately, creativity had a do-not-resuscitate order.
The new “Scrubs” (premieres Feb. 25, Wednesdays at 8 p.m. ET/PT, airs the next day on Hulu, ★ out of 4) isn’t just bad. But despite its attempts to make fun of the PC police, from its corny “humor” to its stereotype-mongering, it’s still bad. It’s that the world we currently live in is very cognitively dissonant. It’s as if the daydreaming protagonist, J.D. (played by Braff with the nastiest immaturity he’s lost as an actor in his 50s), has concocted a TV show in his daydreaming mind, succumbing to the narcissistic fantasies of a generation that can’t let go of anything.
The entire conceit of the new “Scrubs” seems built in fantasyland, where J.D., who has worked for 15 years as a low-paying concierge doctor for the wealthy, is suddenly called back to a more important, life-or-death role at Sacred Heart Hospital, where he once worked as a junior intern. With his best friend Turk (Faison) as the chief surgeon (life works out symmetrically for most people, right?), his on-again, off-again lover Elliot (Sarah Chalke) as his new subordinate, and the full trust of his argumentative mentor Dr. Cox (John C. McGinley), J.D. sets out to lead the hospital and guide a new generation of interns to the wonders of medicine.
If you think it sounds a lot like the much-maligned ninth season, minus the title “Chief,” you’d be right. This time around, the interns are filled with boring Gen Z stereotypes: obsessed with TikTok, too sensitive, too emotional, too self-important. Only occasional appearances by original cast members Nurse Carla (Judy Reyes, busy with a regular on ABC’s better show “High Potential”) and J.D.’s professional rival and clown Dr. Park (Joel Kim Booster, “Fire Island”) provide any semblance of relief or interest.
One can only imagine that creator Bill Lawrence (Ted Lasso) could have used Booster’s charisma and Dr. Park’s bisexual confidence and hedonism to create something more interesting in an entirely new series. Instead, Park appears just enough for the series to exercise jokes based on Asian stereotypes, a break from when it was co-opting black stereotypes, all the while employing “SNL” alum Vanessa Bayer as an annoying human resources representative to ruin everyone’s racist fun.
Just because HBO Max’s Emmy-winning “The Pit” has become the runaway hit of post-pandemic TV, doesn’t mean every show set in a hospital is guaranteed to be a success (just ask Netflix’s big-swing medical drama “Pulse,” which you’ve probably never heard of). The fact that the costume department dressed J.D. in Dr. Robbie (Noah Wyle) style scrubs and a hoodie doesn’t change the fact that the “scrubs” make no sense. The characters haven’t grown an inch in the show’s 16-year hiatus, and the fact that they’re friends in real life keeps their chemistry together. When JD and Turk embrace, all the audience can see is Braff and Faison. Both have been transformed into caricatures of themselves and their most famous characters.
Nostalgia is a powerful thing. There have been more than a dozen TV reboots to date with varying degrees of success (CBS’ “Matlock” tells a much different story than, say, the “Murphy Brown” redux). But despite all the failures that prove that well-known titles are no guarantee of commercial or creative success, Hollywood continues to churn out revivals of such lackluster series as if they’ve found a spot on the floor. This isn’t the kind of storytelling that inspires viewer affection, wins Emmys or ratings, or generates “Pit”-level conversations. It lasts for a season, maybe two or three, and then disappears, like an ugly crack in a beautiful tombstone, staining what was once loved and wonderful.
This is where the “Scrubs” who were murdered twice, in 2010 and 2026, are buried.
