Category Archives: In Memoriam

In Memoriam: Richard Dawson

Many of you know Richard Dawson as the original host of Family Feud, others know him as the original host of Family Feud who kissed every female contestant that didn’t have visible cold sores, others know him as the original host of Family Feud who kissed every female contestant that didn’t have visible cold sores who died this past weekend, and still others know him as the villain in Running Man who spoofed his image as original Family Feud host who kissed every female contestant that didn’t have visible cold sores who died this past weekend.  But, for us, we remember Dawson best for his prior work that helped birth Family Feud, his years next to (or below) Charles Nelson Reilly and Brett Somers on Match Game.  Along with host Gene Rayburn, those three formed the nucleus of Match Game throughout the 70s, gleefully dabbling in double entendre, sipping a drink or two before (and sometimes during) tapings, and walking the tight rope of what censors would allow on daytime TV in 1975.

We vaguely remember seeing Match Game as a young child, far too young to really understand the game and the dated references, let alone the suggestive material, and we certainly had no concept of who the panelists were.  But our personal connection to Match Game came later in the mid-2000s when it was in constant reruns on GSN (né The Game Show Network).  At this time our father had undergone a silly surgery that involved part of his leg being refashioned into his jaw.  While he spent an extended period of time in the hospital recuperating and learning how to be a bionic man, we spent an extended period of time watching reruns of The Match Game, which seemed to run on two-hour blocks, one after another after another.  It’s weird to say – perhaps even somewhat morbid – but Match Game reminds of us good times spent with our family in a cold, sterile hospital room, munching on the spongy bread rolls my dad stowed away in the drawers that became his for two weeks.  So to see Richard Dawson go is to see a friend go, someone who helped get our family through a  particularly difficult time.

But even without Match Game‘s role as family therapy, we still would have a special affection for the show, because it revealed to us, for the first time, that people in the 70s (“old people”) could be funny.  That TV could be loose, freewheeling, dangerous.  There’s a lot that Dawson, Reilly, Somers, Betty White, Fannie Flagg, et al, got away with then that they probably couldn’t today (except for Betty White, since she’s been certified as a national treasure and the rule has been firmly established that the dirtier an older person is the funnier he or she is.  Direct correlation).  Yes, we all remember the gaffes on shows like The Newlywed Game, but those were more the exception than the rule.  Match Game was a party, a kegger, and we were invited.

And if Gene Rayburn was throwing that party, and Charles Nelson Reilly and Brett Somers were the comedy tag-team trouble makers bringing the beer, then Richard Dawson was the preternaturally cool guy that everyone wanted to talk to.  He oozed charisma, smooth and confident, pulling off a turtle neck and loud blazer combo like no one before and no one after. Reilly and Somers gave the party laughs, Dawson gave it cred; the boys came for the alcohol and the fun, the young, pretty girls came for Dawson.  And, indeed, everyone literally wanted to talk to him, as he became such a popular choice in the final “Super Match” round that for a time contestants were forbidden from  selecting him.  And it was this unique acumen in the final rounds that was partly the inspiration for Family Feud, asking 100 people an inane question and listing the top answers.  Of course, the other, more important, part of the inspiration was Dawson’s immense popularity, so big, in fact, that he had to start his own party.  He may perhaps be the only game show panelist whose performance demanded a spin-off, a celebrity panelist who became a greater celebrity because of it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JhHYoO4UGR8

So, yes, most people will remember Richard Dawson as the older, maybe even kinda creepy, guy who kissed every woman on Family Feud.  But we’ll remember him as the laid-back, vaguely British guy on Match Game whom every woman wanted to kiss.  And who, along with Reilly, Somers and Rayburn, gave our family a little cheer when we needed it, even if the party ended thirty years prior, the hangovers long since worn off, all four now gone off to that bright game show set in the sky.

One more time, a round of applause for Richard Dawson:

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Filed under In Memoriam, Match Games, Nostalgia Corner

Must Flee TV: Community – The Twilight of the First Harmon Dynasty

Today we bring you the final entry in our “Must Flee TV” series, our thoughts on the end of ‘Community’ Season Three, and, well, the end of an era. 

Full disclosure: when we wrote our Dan Harmon obituary earlier this week we had not yet had the chance to view the final three Season Three Community episodes.  We felt comfortable going ahead with the in memorial post because there would be nothing in those final episodes of the Harmon run to change our opinion of his work and influence on Community.  Unless one of the episodes was a shot-by-shot remake of an unremarkable episode of Friends, he could do nothing to tarnish his legacy, and, actually, they probably could pull that episode off (and by Season Six he probably would have gotten to that too).  But, as it turned out, the show had still yet another level to go, there were still recesses of our mind left to blow.

Perhaps only when Fox burned off the last four Arrested Developments against the Olympics has viewing a block of episodes felt so bittersweet, such a painful joy.  But unlike the Arrested finale night, the last three episodes of Community left us with little closure, and much uncertainty.  If anything, we’re sadder now than we were at the end of Arrested (obviously we could not know that it would eventually come back on Netflix, and we would have been foolish to pin our hopes on such a thing, especially since Netflix was in its nascent stages then).  We know our show is coming back, but we don’t know in what form, if it’ll continue on the same genius path, if it’ll forge something new and different, or if it’ll be a morbid a shadow of itself, a crushing reminder of what was.

Up far ahead: Our top 5 episodes of the Dan Harmon Era…

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Filed under Analysis, Brilliance, Good Humor, Greendale Human, In Memoriam, Lists, Must Flee TV, Must See TV

Must Flee TV: Last Exit to Harmontown AKA They Call it Show Business Not Show Art

In our discussion last week about Community‘s upcoming move to Friday nights we confidently predicted that, despite swirling rumors, we saw no reason why Dan Harmon would not return as Community showrunner.  Perhaps we should have been more precise with our diction.  What we meant was that we saw no reason why Harmon would choose not to return.  The idea that NBC/Sony would not bring him back never crossed our minds.  So while we still stand by what we wrote last week we were shocked and dismayed (like everyone else) when we learned over the weekend that Harmon was replaced as showrunner and essentially fired from his own show (however, unlike everyone else, we read the news on our phone during a bachelor party in Chicago, after sleeping off the night before).

More: examining the body, looking for a motivation…

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Filed under Analysis, Greendale Human, In Memoriam, Must Flee TV, Must See TV

In Memorium: Maurice Sendak

Full disclosure: as far as we know, we’ve never read anything by Maurice Sendak.  We haven’t even seen Where the Wild Things are.  The closest we’ve come is putting that Arcade Fire song on a mix once.  But, clearly, Sendak meant a lot to a lot of people, and, if our Facebook newsfeed is to be any judge, his words affected several generations.  Maybe for them, he was their Jim Henson.  For us, our lasting image of Sendak will be, quite literally, his last image, his brilliant appearance on the Colbert Report this past January.

Vodpod videos no longer available.

It’s easy for someone to be a subversive, fiercely free-speaking iconoclast in their 20s.  Try doing it til the day you die.

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In Memorium: Kid

We weren’t even three years-old when the Mets won the World Series in 1986, but that team has come to define our life.  We don’t remember much, if anything, from that time, but we watched and rewatched and wore out 1986: A Year to Remember, the VHS yearbook of that magical season, and even if those memories weren’t burned onto our cerebral cortex in that October, we don’t recall a time when we didn’t know that team, when Mex, Doc, Darryl, Nails and Kid weren’t our heroes.  The only other similar experience for us was the 1994 Rangers, and while we continue to revere that team  – especially captain and messiah Mark Messier – their impact on us is not as great as the ’86 Mets.  In ’94 we were old enough to choose the Rangers, but the ’86 Mets essentially chose us.  For better or worse.  That would be the team against which we would measure every other team against for the rest of our lives.  And we know that, no matter what, because of that team’s success, and promise, and its ultimate shortcomings, no team will ever match it in our hearts and minds.

Despite the fact that we’re not left-handed and don’t play first base, we gravitated towards Keith Hernandez.  He was our guy.  It was the intangibles, the way he approached the game with a a cerebral approach, the way he made the players around him better, the way he was a leader and a champion.  But we also knew, as A Year to Remember made clear, that Keith wasn’t alone in leading that team.  Gary Carter, he of the wide, indefatigable smile, the king the curtain call, shared that role with Keith.  If Mex was the brains of that team, Kid was the heart.  Keith was the field general, Gary was their spiritual guide.  They made each other better, and together they willed that team to win.  And in doing so left an indelible mark on so many of us.  They were the rock.

That was the first time we ever heard the world “effervescent” and we’ve associated it with Gary Carter ever since.

Thanks, Kid.

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Filed under In Memoriam, Local Flavor, Matt Christopher Books, Nostalgia Corner

Parting Shot: Goodbye Reege

Thanks for the memories, most of which were caused by your terrible, terrible memory. 

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Filed under Good with Coffee, In Memoriam, Parting Shot, Reeeeeege

In Memorium: Steve Jobs

Well, actually, all that needs to be said about Steve Jobs has already been said, both good and bad.  So, instead, we thought we’d take this opportunity to share our earliest memory of Mac, what made us first want a Mac (a wish that took over ten years to come true, and then another five to be a proud owner of a brand new model): the 1995 sitcommerical, “The Martinettis Bring Home a Computer.”  We recall watching this infomercial-scripted comedy-hybrid on Saturday mornings with the same rapt attention we offered Muppet Babies and Saved by the Bell.  Much like the innovative products Jobs would bring to the world several years later upon his return to Apple, this “show” was pretty much the first of its kind.  Starring Chauncey Leopardi, better known as Michael “Squints” Palledorous, it remains a symbol of the that quintessential visionary Apple spirit, seen before, during, and hopefully after Jobs.

(if you’re curious, our first computer was  Compaq Presario with Windows 95 and we thought it was the most amazing thing ever ever).

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Filed under In Memoriam, Nostalgia Corner, Robots

In Memorium: Andy Rooney

Well, he hasn’t left this earth, but he’s leaving 60 Minutes.  And we should take this moment not to remember Rooney’s 1,097cantankerous, complaint-filled segments, but rather this clip from Beavis and Butthead, which first (tangentially) introduced us to the thorny, opinionated, very old (even then) man.

(and it’s because of this video that up until a few years ago we weren’t certain of the difference between Andy Rooney, Mickey Rooney and Mickey Rourke)

 

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Filed under In Memoriam, Is That Still On?, TV Killed the Music Video Star

Belated In Memoriam: “Macho Man” Randy Savage

[It was about a month ago, while quickly scanning our Twitter feed, that we saw a report that Macho Randy Savage (née Randy Poffo) had passed away.  It seemed like one of those hoax stories, and at the very least even if he was in a car accident the reports of his demise must have been greatly exaggerated.  But, thanks to the blazing, almost frightening ,speed of social media, his passing was confirmed almost immediately.  And we knew we had to say something about it.  And we also knew, unfortunately, that we couldn’t comment at the time.  However, we made a promise we would not let his death go unrecognized. So, now, better late than never, here we go.]

In some ways he was the Scotty Pippen of professional wrestling.  A skilled athlete who never shied away from the spotlight, one of the best all-around performers of his or any generation, but one who spent his whole career overshadowed by another, more colorful, more bombastic, larger than life superstar.  But whereas Pippen could never match Michael Jordan’s ability, Randy Savage was arguably (perhaps empirically) a stronger technical wrestler than his sometimes best friend, sometimes bitter enemy, Hulk Hogan.  The Hulkster plodded around the ring, employing more smoke and mirrors than legitimate squared circle proficiency.  Savage, on the other hand, could match, if not exceed, Hulk’s lyrical prowess and pair that with superior wrestling ability, capable of demonstrating legitimate ring expertise on the mat or from the top turnbuckle.  And yet, while he was no doubt one of the top wrestling superstars for years, hands down one of the all-time greats, he never reached the same stratospheric heights as Hogan.  Sure, there were legions of Macho Man fans, a vocal contingent who would claim Savage’s ascendancy, but the sheer fact is that Hogan achieved a level of fame that Macho Man could never quite grasp.  He was probably a household name at his peak, a fixture in WWF video games, a headliner, a merchandising bonanza, a Slim Jim spokesperson.  But where was his starring role in a motion picture?  Where was his brand of vitamins?  Where was his post-retirement reality show?  In another time, Savage could have the indisputable best, head and shoulders above the rest.  But in our time he was always going to fall just short of Hogan.  No matter what.

And perhaps, at least for us, it goes back to the break up of the Mega Powers, the all-star team-up between Savage and Hogan, an alliance that ultimately imploded over their competition for the attention of manager and Savage’s then real-life wife Miss Elizabeth.  We very, very clearly remember when their partnership, and friendship, went up in flames.  And even though we think at that time we already understood that wrestling was fake, this schism felt very real.  It was, truly, heartbreaking, and we never really recovered from it.  And, even though it was scripted, fabrication, theater, Savage came out as the aggressor, the loose cannon, the villain, and Hogan the real American hero.  And this was a perception that perhaps Savage was never able to shake.  His rugged, rough and tumble recklessness would never match Hogan’s safe, bland chivalry.  In the end, we could never forgive him for tossing a woman, let alone his wife, clear across the locker room.

Which, again, is a shame, because Savage, as a character at least, was more human in his imperfections.  He could be jealous, insecure, selfish, callous, violent.  But he could also be brave, gentle, passionate and heroic.  And, with his unfortunate passing we’ll choose to look back and remember Savage at his best, a showman, offering an unmatched blend of athletic aptitude and verbal acuity, a man blessed with a gift for punching and for pomp & circumstance.  Truly, a poet and a pugilist.

Thanks, Randy.  Oh yeah.

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In Memorium: Sidney Lumet

Legendary director Sidney Lumet passed away this past weekend at the age of 86.  Although he was long-known as one of Hollywood’s most prolific and talented directors, helming such masterworks as Dog Day Afternoon, Twelve Angry Men and Network, thanks to Vin Diesel we remember hms best for one of his later films, Find Me Guilty.  Unfortunately, because of Mr. XXX, we’ll never be able to hear the name “Sidney Lumet” and not think of ice cream.

We guess Making Movies didn’t include a section about how to vary your stories for talk show appearances.

 

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Filed under In Memoriam, The Big Screen