“Girls” debuted in 2012 \u2014 when the Jewish creator and star Lena Dunham was just 24 \u2014 and became the kind of smash success fueled by a maelstrom of both breathless praise<\/a> and scathing critiques<\/a>.<\/p>\n The show, which focused on four young women navigating Brooklyn and the turbulence of early adulthood, took on awkward sex, bad relationships, unpaid internships and minutiae of the entry-level \u201ccreative class\u201d in stunningly refreshing ways.<\/p>\n Of course, even in its brilliant early days, “Girls” was not without its flaws. The characters were achingly relevant to many young people \u2014 especially among 20-something New Yorkers like myself \u2014 but they also represented a very white, privileged sector of society. Dunham famously said<\/a>, \u201cI am a half-Jew, half WASP, and I wrote two Jews and two WASPs,\u201d but she acknowledged the whiteness of her first season\u2019s cast. She\u00a0promptly wrote Donald Glover into a guest role in the show’s second season \u2014 the knee-jerk response was also criticized<\/a>.<\/p>\n As the series matured and begins its final episodes Sunday, it is no longer TV\u2019s hip, love-to-hate-it darling. Other comedies such as \u201cBroad City<\/a>\u201d (written and starring Abbi Jacobson and Ilana Glazer, two of the Jewiest<\/a> women in comedy) and \u201cMaster of None<\/a>\u201d assumed the mantle of \u201ccool new show about young people in New York City.\u201d (It is worth nothing that the triumph of these upstarts is due, at least in some part, to the trailblazing success of \u201cGirls.\u201d)<\/p>\n The millennial world\u2019s gradual disenchantment with \u201cGirls\u201d may be due as much to Dunham\u2019s off-screen antics as to the quality of the show\u2019s writing, which gradually declined after its first season by abandoning some of its freshest themes, such as the continual struggle to pay rent in New York and the stress of uncertain relationships. Last year, Dunham was excoriated from all sides for some questionable comments she made on abortion<\/a> and a black football player<\/a>. The year before, she wrote a piece in the New Yorker comparing her Jewish boyfriend (Fun! guitarist Jack Antonoff) to a dog and was called anti-Semitic<\/a>. She\u2019s been labeled by some as the epitome of a \u201cwhite feminist<\/a>\u201d \u2014 someone who genuinely wants to push back against society\u2019s patriarchy but is oblivious to the broader concerns of women from different classes and races.<\/p>\n But it was not that long ago that Dunham was likened\u00a0to Woody Allen, that other controversial pillar of Jewish humor \u2014 for good reason. A 2014 article<\/a> in The New York Times Magazine first made the explicit connection, which was hotly debated and\u00a0widely<\/a> praised<\/a>.<\/p>\n Author Meghan Daum wrote:<\/p>\n \u201c[T]he artist to whom [Dunham is] most analogous is [Woody] Allen \u2026 With her awkward screen presence, her preoccupation with sex, her frank exploration of her own neuroses and, above all, her willingness to play the part of herself almost to the point of caricature, Dunham has ensured that her work be guided by her own persona, which in turn has been shaped by the twin forces of profound anxiety and exhaustive (though, again like Allen, somewhat roving and undisciplined) intellectual engagement. Plus, of course, extensive therapy.\u201d<\/p>\n The comparison is eerily accurate. True, Dunham\u2019s show\u00a0may be set in an era defined by a technology-induced ennui that the Allen of the ’60s and ’70s couldn’t have imagined \u2014 see the casual-at-first relations between Dunham\u2019s hapless character Hannah and her bizarre love interest, Adam. (Those episodes, which aired well before the rise of dating apps, still feel like an accurate portrayal of a Tinder relationship today). There may not be as many Jewish references in \u201cGirls\u201d as there are in \u201cAnnie Hall\u201d or \u201cCrimes and Misdemeanors,\u201d though there were some notable Jewish moments in the early episodes, such as when Shoshanna Shapiro hooks up with a guy she knew from\u00a0Camp Ramah.<\/p>\n Plus, while both Dunham and Allen are creatures of New York, the realms inhabited by their characters \u2014 Greenpoint, Brooklyn, and the Upper East Side, respectively \u2014 may as well be worlds apart.<\/p>\n But on a fundamental level, the core motif of “Girls”\u00a0is unrelenting discomfort \u2014 whether it\u2019s unease with the shape of Dunham’s body (which she frequently bares), awkward encounters at work or the anxieties amassed in the quest to live a fulfilling, artistic life. Who else, if not Dunham, would craft a character that frets about the \u201cstuff\u201d that gets up \u201caround the sides of condoms,\u201d<\/a>\u00a0ask a widow about a book deal at a funeral<\/a> or turn a nearly debilitating episode of OCD<\/a> into dark humor?<\/p>\n “Girls” has been hilarious psychosocial commentary, and it builds on Allen\u2019s work \u2014 fortunately from the perspective of a young woman. (Even the most hardcore Allen fans can get tired of his trope<\/a> of an older man fawning over younger, more attractive woman). Dunham’s oeuvre\u00a0is also a welcome\u00a0break from the frat-bro and stoner humor common in the work of other modern Jewish comics, such as Adam Sandler or Seth Rogen.<\/p>\n In the now iconic first episode of “Girls,”\u00a0Hannah tells her parents that she could be the voice of her generation \u2014 but she quickly hedges and says she is \u201cat least a<\/em> voice of a<\/em> generation.\u201d That\u2019s a pretty good description of Dunham\u2019s work: unmistakably of our time and yet, in a\u00a0sense, from another era.<\/p>\n Ultimately, watching \u201cGirls\u201d shouldn\u2019t just be\u00a0comedic enjoyment for American Jews. It’s also a self-reflexive exercise that reminds us to be mindful of our neuroses, even if we will never be able to fully bury them. The rare, funny honesty depicted\u00a0in \u201cGirls\u201d — now in short supply on TV, where violent dramas reign supreme — will be sorely missed.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n![\"Share](\"https:\/\/static.hupso.com\/share\/buttons\/share-medium.png\")