The Final Four in the Ultimate Eugene Levy in American Pie Showdown is set! Following an explosive, dramatic, electric opening round we’re left with Jim’s Dad in American Pie, Jim’s Dad in American Pie 2, Jim’s Dad in American Reunion (a controversial win over Jim’s Dad in American Pie: The Naked Mile), and, in a stunning upset, Jim’s Dad in American Pie: Band Camp. Can the number six seed continue its cinderella run and shock the world by taking down the original Jim’s Dad? Will the older, wiser Jim’s Dad in American Reunion be able to overcome his younger, more agile, less gray self? The only thing that we know for sure is that when it comes to Eugene Levy as Jim’s Dad tournaments anything can happen.
In keeping with the trend started with yesterday’s post, we’re talking about Saved by the Bell again. But this time we’re responding to Mark-Paul Gosselaar’s comments to Yahoo News about Saved by the Bell, telling them“It’s not a great show.” This statement seemed to promote outrage among the blogosphere, viewed as heresy committed by the biggest star of the legendary, landmark, immortal teen sitcom. But we’re here to say that not only is Mark-Paul not guilty of treachery, he’s downright accurate.
Now we feel comfortable saying we adore Saved by the Bell as much as anyone. There are two reasons to marathon the entire series, as we did last year: 1) Masochism or 2) Genuine appreciation for the show. While watching all five seasons wasn’t a completely painless experience, our feelings clearly place us in the second camp, SBTB acolytes. But just because we volunteered ourselves to watch every episode – and enjoyed much of it – that doesn’t mean the show is infallible. In fact, having recently viewed every minute of it, much of Saved by the Bell is terrible. The acting, the writing, the jokes, the sets, the music, the lipdubs, all bad. But whether or not we appreciated that camp factor at the time (and we doubt we did, considering how invested we were in Zack and Kelly’s relationship, to this day the most important relationship in our lives, real or fictional), we certainly do now. It couldn’t be less like a realistic portrayal of high school, the opposite of Freaks and Geeks. But that’s fine. It was the perfect show for Saturday mornings in 1991 and weekeday afternoons in 1993. It wasn’t the high school experience we had, it was the one we wanted.
Just because something is bad it doesn’t mean it can’t be really, really, really good.
Today’s Search Term is “Johnny Dakota,” which, of course, means you readers out there are looking for the Saved by the Bell episode “No Hope With Dope.” And sure, we could give you a clip from that episode featuring fictional mega-hunk Johnny Dakota, played by dancer/choreographer Eddie Garcia, but that would be the easy way out. We prefer to present you with a clip that offers the biggest guest star in the episode, the truly special guest star, NBC Chairman Brandon Tartikoff.
By this point – 1991 – Tartikoff had a habit of popping up in NBC shows as himself, or as a version of himself, and this was a particularly meta appearance where he posited the idea of an NBC sitcom about a principal and his students. He ultimately ruled the idea out, but of course, that very ideawas the show that he was on, one of a string of a hits on NBC under Tartikoff’s reign. It does say something special about Saved by the Bell’s specific success that it inspired the network chairman to appear on a Saturday Morning teen show, which is decidedly a different hosting SNL, which Tartikoff did in 1983. But always adept at self-promotion, Tartikoff knew an opportunity when it presented itself.
And speaking of promotion, you can read more about Tartikoff’s tenure at NBC in the new book Top of the Rock: The Rise and Fall of Must See TV, just like we did last week. Written by Tartikoff’s protege and successor Warren Littlefield (well, more curated than written by), the book takes a look at NBC’s dominance in the 90s. And while most of the tome focuses on the post-Tartikoff era at the Peacock, he was an important figure in shaping the network and laying the groundwork (Cheers, Cosby, Hill Street Blues, etc.) on which Must See TV was built. It’s that perfect gift for anyone who likes to read oral histories but hates anything of substance. But, be warned, there’s no talk of Saved by the Bell in the book, so you’ll have to rely on Behind the Bell for that.
Remember kids, say no to drugs! Or you could end up like Dustin Diamond.
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 Manwho 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 TheMatch 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.
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:
Last week in our Community season recap (and Dan Harmon era post-mortem) we listed our top five episodes from the series’s three seasons. We included on that list “Contemporary American Poultry” because, besides being brilliant, it was the first episode to truly bring it all together and show what that series could be, the way that it could play with genre but still be entirely Community. But if we had to identify when we fell in love with the show, that would have to be “Comparative Religion,” just a few episodes earlier. While not as strong of an episode, certainly not as ambitious, it was the first episode we were excited to watch again (and we did). If “Poultry” was the promise of what was to come, “Religion” was the promise of the promise of what was to come. Which is why we were so pleased to see “anthony michael hall on community” as one of today’s top search terms.
Well, it’s back to the grind after a long, boozy, enjoyable Memorial Day Weekend. But so much happened! And all while Lauren was away. Hard to believe.
Back in March Gallagher suffered three separate heart attacks and it seemed like the very appropriate time to post a long-gestating Gallagher piece we had been planning to write. Well, obviously, two months have passed, but during that interim we kept this tab open in our browser, a reminder that, eventually, we needed to get to it, to talk about Gallagher, to try to make some sense of this fallen from grace comedian in the twilight of career, and possibly of his life.
We should preface this by detailing our own personal history with Gallagher. We very clearly recall watching his cable specials as a child, filling time slots in the early years of Comedy Central and possibly even on VH1, before they had Celebrity Rehab to occupy the bulk of their schedule. Of course we remember the watermelon smashing – the Sledge-O-Matic – but we also vividly remember a giant couch, outfitted with a trampoline under the giant cushions, and as an eight year-old that seemed like the coolest thing ever. It was like Lily Tomlin’s Edith Ann, but crossed with a playground, with a purpose. We wanted one. The stage, with its oversized props, was quite literally a giant toy store, and Gallagher was the wily proprietor, with a sparkle in his eye and a mischievous grin. We’re not sure at the time that we really understood “comedy,” but we liked whatever he was doing. It may not have been comedy, but it sure as fuck was entertaining to a kid still five-years shy of his Bar Mitzvah.
Back in March Gallagher suffered three separate heart attacks and it seemed like the very appropriate time to post a long-gestating Gallagher piece we had been planning to write. Well, obviously, two months have passed, but during that interim we kept 
Jumped The Snark 