Part Four: Getting It Together
Aug 11-15, 2003
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Young Love
Monday, Aug 11
So, where were we? Oh, right, halfway through the first season. Previously, on My Week with The Muppet Show: I was watching every episode of The Muppet Show in production order, and writing a commentary on each one. Except I stopped for about a year. Better get back to it.
But I'm not the only one who took a break to regroup, actually. The Muppet people had a production break right at this point in the season: the Candice Bergen episode was taped in mid-August, 1976, and then the Avery Schreiber episode was taped a month and a half later, in late September.
This wasn't much of a vacation, obviously -- this was the beginning of the fall TV season, when the show first went on the air. Henson and Kermit did some promotions, going on Good Morning America and Dinah Shore to plug the new show. The rest of the time, I expect they sat around and chewed their fingernails, and then worked obsessively on how to make the show better. That's what I would have done.
Cause it did okay; the show was well-received right from the git-go. Good reviews, decent ratings. But it was obvious, I think, that there were some flaws in the show that needed to get fixed.
Which brings us to this: "Our guest is a young man and an old friend who's been making television and nightclub audiences laugh for many years as part of the comedy team of Burns and Schreiber. And right now, he's launching a new career as a movie performer and a television star in his own right: Mr Avery Schreiber!"
And all across America, millions of children are saying, Whoooooo?
I'm not taking anything away from young Mr Avery Schreiber here, but he's not exactly the kind of guest who needs no introduction, is he. He's not one of your Paul Simons or your Carol Burnetts or your Peter Sellerses. The Q-rating is not high. He's more the "can you remember anybody's phone number offhand" kind of guest star. The other half of the comedy team of Burns and Schreiber would be Jack Burns, the head writer for the first season of The Muppet Show. It's an inside job.
But like I said, I'm not criticizing. The guy's funny, and according to Kermit, he's a young man. He's a kid, young Master Schreiber, just starting out in the business, and they're giving him a leg up on his new career. I can't be too rough with him. Never let it be said that I pick on children.
But before we get to him, we've got an important Pig thing going on backstage.
Miss Piggy corrals Scooter, and asks for a teeny tiny favor. Kermit is reluctant to return her affection, so she wants Scooter to make the frog jealous by telling him that Avery Schreiber is madly in love with her. (Avery Schreiber? the audience gasps. But he's only a CHILD!) Scooter asks what happens if he refuses. Piggy purrs: "Then I will karate chop you until the only thing you will be able to go fer is DOWN for the COUNT!" One jealous frog, comin' up!
A little later, Scooter tells Kermit that Avery is in his dressing room with Piggy, and gave strict instructions that he shouldn't be disturbed. Kermit is incredulous: "Piggy and Avery, are you nuts? He wouldn't touch her with a ten-foot pole!" "You're right," Scooter says, "he was touching her with his HANDS!" Scooter whispers a sample "sweet nothing" into Kermit's ear, and the frog chases him away: Out, out, OUT! He shakes his head: "Piggy and Avery? Sheesh!"
Now, correct me if I'm wrong -- and I'm sure you will -- but I think this might be our first actual story in a Muppet Show episode. They've done a bunch of running-gag episodes, with Fozzie pulling backstage tricks on Kermit. And they've done some proto-story episodes, like the Robot Kermit in the Ruth Buzzi episode -- but that was really just a string of disconnected scenes, rather than a story that builds from one scene to the next.
But this is a real story. Miss Piggy has a goal -- even if it's a vague "get the frog to love me" goal -- and she's doing something about it. When they did the dry run for this story in the Florence Henderson episode, Piggy just flounced from scene to scene, smothering Kermit with kisses and then darting away. Here, she's a pig with a plan.
And that's not all that's going on in this episode, either. We've got the Electric Mayhem tearing up the house playing "Tenderly" really, really loud. We've got the Infant Schreiber exchanging comic insults with Sweetums on what looks to me like the biggest, most impressive Muppet Show set so far. We've got Bunsen Honeydew inventing a gorilla detector, and getting attacked by a gorilla. Roll up, roll up, folks, every scene a winner. They did not waste that production break napping, no no. They've got quality stuff.
Back to Piggy. Kermit is doing a talk spot with the guest, when Piggy runs in and starts doing smoochy-face with Li'l Avery. He plays along, until Kermit puts a stop to it: "I know what's been going on behind my back, but Miss Piggy is MY girl! You're just a guest on this show, just passing through town! She loves me, and she's gonna have dinner with me, tonight, after the show, Miss Piggy, you and me, alone!"
I don't really have that much to say about that -- the greatness of that moment is transparent -- but I want to take a second just to sit and enjoy it. That's why we like stories on this show, for bits like that. I bet some viewers were actually startled by this amazing development.
Anyway, great as it is, it all fizzles out a few scenes later.
Backstage, Piggy snuggles up to Kermit and apologizes for making him jealous. Kermit admits that he isn't actually jealous: Scooter told him it was all a trick. Piggy karate-chops Scooter, and then screams at Kermit: "Who NEEDS ya? Flipper face!"
Which is a nice ending, but unfortunately, it's still two long scenes away from the end of the episode. They're starting to figure out how to tell a story on the show, but the bit they haven't mastered yet is how a backstage story can affect the onstage action, right up to the end. The closing number here is Avery singing a peppy nonsense song with a bunch of aliens, monsters and birds. It's an energetic, fun number, but it's only satisfying as an ending if the Schreiber sprout is the most important thing in the episode, which he is not.
Still, Piggy does come back at the curtain call to snuggle with Avery and punch Kermit in the face. So there's progress here, definite progress. Stay tuned.
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Heebie-Jeebies
Tuesday, Aug 12
"Hi ho, hi ho," says Kermit, "and welcome again to The Muppet Show!" Thank you, Kermit.
"Hey, our special guest tonight is a young man who soared to stardom on Broadway in Pippin, had his own television series, and is one of the really multi-talented performers in show business."
Man, what is it with Kermit and the young men this week? Ben Vereen was 30 years old in 1976. Not that thirty is old -- it's eleven years younger than yesterday's "young man," Avery Schreiber -- but what the hell? The next episode stars Phyllis Diller; maybe Kermit will call her a young man too.
Anyway, Ben Vereen is such a multi-talented performer in show business that they stick him in one of the most awkward opening numbers of all time.
It's "Jump Shout Boogie," a peppy, upbeat song written by Barry Manilow -- I'm not kidding, it really was -- about people dancing in honky-tonks to take their minds off the fact that their loved ones were dying in World War 2.
It's sung, for no apparent reason, by a guy with two heads, accompanied by Rowlf and four frenzied Muppet dancers. The backdrop is adorned with what look mostly like huge musical notes, except for one shape over to the left that isn't.
The two-headed singer does a verse and a couple choruses -- most of which consist of the words "boogie-woogie," "heebie-jeebies," and "switcharoonie."
He really makes you wanna jump (JUMP!)
Shout (SHOUT!)
Knock yourself out!
-- and the dancing couples smack their heads together and fall to the floor for a moment --
A boogie-woogie beat is what I'm talking about
If you had the heebie-jeebies you could dance away
To the boogie-woogie beat of a piano man playin'.
Then, apropos of nothing, Rowlf shouts, "Ladies and gentlemen, Mr Ben Vereen!"
That multi-talented performer Mr Ben Vereen appears -- literally appears, out of thin air -- perched on a little platform by Rowlf's piano at the back of the set. It is, in fact, a very little platform; Ben clearly doesn't have room to move even one step in any direction for fear of plummeting down onto a puppeteer.
So, in lieu of actually having room to dance, he does a sort of limp-wristed Tyrannosaurus Rex thing with his hands, and starts wriggling hisknees around.
He's very good at that. If knee-wriggling counts as one of the talents in multi-talented, then yes, the man is multi-talented. (After all, he's got two knees, that's one talent apiece.)
It's not dancing, per se. But the guy's on a very small platform, and he's just teleported into this mess, so at the moment just not falling over is sufficient.
The two-headed singer is at it again.
He really makes you wanna jump (JUMP!)
Shout (SHOUT!)
Oooooh knoggyaseggaaaaa
That's Mr Ben Vereen there, on the ooooh knoggyaseggaaaaa. That's apparently Ben's version of the line "knock yourself out."
You wanna jump (JUMP!)
Shout
You wanna soggatoome nowwww
You wanna jump (JUMP!)
Shout
Flo-do-OIK! Flo-do-OIK!
More translations: soggatoome nowww means "sock it to me now." I have absolutely no idea what Flo-do-OIK, Flo-do-OIK means, except that it's one of the more unpleasant sounds that can be made through the human larynx.
After that incident, Ben doesn't sing anymore. The two-headed guy takes over for the next chorus, and Ben just acquits himself on his little platform like he's Laugh-In's Goldie Hawn on amphetamines. Or, rather, more amphetamines than Goldie's usual dose.
He jumps, he shouts, he knocks himself out. There's some more knee-wriggling, and something that looks a bit like the butterfly stroke.
We're almost done. Ben gives us a little high-energy air piano for a few more bars, and then everyone involved turns to the camera, opens their mouth as wide as possible, and screams YEAH!
Ben, the only actual human being in view, is grimacing like a mad thing, with a weird open-mouthed toothy grin that he holds for far longer than is optimal. He also throws his arms out and does jazz hands.
And that's the end of the bit.
It is, in other words, one minute and thirty-four seconds of the most unpleasant sights and sounds ever broadcast on television. I just can't say enough about it.
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Generation Gap
Wednesday, Aug 13
I swear I don't plan these things. They just happen.
We're four minutes into today's episode. The jug band has done the opening number. Statler and Waldorf do a joke. Then we go backstage, where Scooter is congratulating the jug band on a great number.
Hilda the wardrobe lady turns to Scooter and says, "Ohhh... that Miss Diller, she is so wonderful!" Oh, Scooter says. Nice lady, huh? "Ohhh, YES, Scooter," Hilda gushes, "and so YOUNG-looking!"
Thank you, ladies and gentlemen! Have a good night.
Oh, all right, I'll write some more. But I don't really have to, do I? That just speaks for itself. Yesterday, the 30-year-old Mr Ben Vereen was a young man. On Monday, the 41-year-old Mr Avery Schreiber was a young man. And today, right off the hump, Phyllis Diller, who was 59 years old in 1976, is so YOUNG-looking.
And then get this. Hilda asks if Miss Diller has had her face lifted, and Scooter says she jokes about it all the time. "Ah, that's wonderful," says Hilda. "A person should stay YOUNG and DYNAMIC as long as possible... Maybe I should consider that. After all, I am thirty-five!"
So the question is, as usual: what the hell? Why so much emphasis lately on how old people are?
The whole backstage story today revolves around Hilda's failed attempts to look younger. She tries on a long red wig, then a short blonde wig, each time thinking that no one will recognize the new and improved Hilda. Naturally, each time nobody notices she's changed anything.
And that's not all. Right after that first Hilda spot, there's a comedy sketch with Phyllis and Rowlf trading one-liners on how depressing their lives are. Rowlf's jokes are mostly about being a dog -- "The first three months of my life there was a newspaper strike" -- and Phyllis' are mostly about being old and ugly.
"I went to the beauty parlor, and the lady at the desk said, madam, we do repairs, not reclamations... So then I asked the haidresser what I should use on my hair. He said, a match... But, you see, I was born ugly! I have home movies of my folks leaving the hospital with sacks over their heads."
It goes on and on. Next is a Statler and Waldorf gag talking about the guest star: What's her secret? What's her magic? What's her NAME? "You've forgotten too, huh?" Waldorf says, and then leans against the balcony railing for a nap. Then it's back to Hilda in a wig.
There's all this age stuff going on today. We even see Statler and Waldorf dancing in the ballroom sketch.
So this episode is another attempt to figure out an important question: How do you make a puppet show for -- and about -- adults? That's the crucial question of the entire first season, obviously, and it occurs to me that one of the ways they tried to establish an adult tone was to populate the show with senior citizens.
It's weird, when you think about it. At the start of the first season, there's five major characters who are all elderly -- George the janitor, Hilda, Mildred, Statler and Waldorf. (There's also Bunsen Honeydew and the Swedish Chef, and they're not spring chickens either.)
Compare that to the number of child characters: Zero. (Unless you count the teen-something Scooter.) Robin the Frog, the only major little-kid character on the show, hasn't appeared yet. On the whole, the first season cast skews older than practically any other TV show I can think of. The only other ensemble show that I can think of that includes five elderly main characters is The Golden Girls.
It's almost like they're overcompensating, to prove that they're not making a preschool show. This isn't Sesame Street, it's Social Security Street.
But by this point in the season, they've pretty much established themselves as an adult show, and this episode -- the only episode with a major role for Hilda -- marks the point where they really start phasing out the elderly characters. George and Mildred have almost completely disappeared from the series; they pop up in "At the Dance" sketches, but so do various no-name pigs and monsters. By the beginning of next season, which is only six episodes away, the only elderly characters left will be Statler and Waldorf, who are mostly stuck in their theater box. A few years later, they'll introduce Pops the stage doorman... who's also stuck in a little box.
At the end of the episode, Hilda takes one last stab at youth and beauty. Kermit notices how slim she looks in her red dress, and she explains that she's using very tight foundation garments.
As Kermit admires her, the dress explodes in a shower of dust and torn cloth. "Oh, darn," she says, "my girdle had a blowout."
Kermit is reassuring. "Oh, that's okay, Hilda," he says. "We love you like you are anyhow."
Which is very sweet. Except in six episodes, she's gonna get shipped off to the Old Muppets Home with George and Mildred. So it's kind of a mixed message, really.
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House of Ham
Thursday, Aug 14
Somebody explain this to me: What does Vincent Price do, exactly?
Back in the day, when Kermit introduced him to me as "the crown prince of terror," I accepted that information like the sweet, innocent child that I was. Now that I've grown into a hard-bitten, cynical Muppet journalist, I find my childlike faith weakening.
I mean, yes, he was in House of Wax, yes, he was in Theatre of Blood, yes, he played the lead role in Dr Goldfoot and the Bikini Machine. And they were all very scary, I'm sure. But what does he DO?
Let's take a look at the historical record, courtesy of his guest appearance on The Muppet Show.
Vincent first appears on the House of Horrors sketch, with Fozzie and Gonzo renting a gothic castle as their summer cottage. There's thunder, there's lightning, there's organ music and ghosts. So far, so spooky, right?
Then there's a knock, Fozzie opens the huge creaking door... and this walks in.
I mean, talk about a buzzkill, right? It's the cafeteria lunch lady with a frilly ascot.
"Excuuuse me," he intones, "but do YOU have a ROOM for the NIGHT? You seeee, the RRRRROAD has WASHED OUT. And my HORSE... had a FLAT. TIRE." Now, I'll admit that it's kind of scary to see a guy mangle a not-very-funny gag like that, but it's not in the top ten on my personal scream parade.
For the balance of the sketch, Vincent sh'booms around in his velvet cape, pursing his lips and wringing his hands.
"Ohhhh... this is terrible, TERRIBLE!" he moans. At the stroke of midnight, as it turns out, he turns into a bloodlusting animal. As the bells toll, he cries, "Quicklah, QUICKlah... Preparrrre a DUNGEON!... Chains! MANacles! BIND me! Urrrrhhh aaahhh... grruuurrr gghhhh..."
Okay, so I don't know what kind of weird scene Victor's into here with the chains and the manacles, but if he calls out sick tomorrow, we could sub in Paul Lynde or Charles Nelson Reilly with no questions asked.
This isn't so much "Oh! That's so scary!" as it is "Ohhhh, that's so SCARY..."
Now, I know what you're going to say -- he's not supposed to be really scary here. It's a comedy sketch on a puppet show. It's just a parody. But for my money, if you're gonna bill yourself as the crown prince of terror, then when you make an appearance on a television show, I want to see more princing and less mincing. C'mon! Gimme some scare, man! Make with the fright!
It's like an episode where Elton John shows up to play the kazoo, or Rudolph Nureyev just lounges on the recliner and eats Doritos. If you're not gonna actually do the thing that you're supposed to be famous for, then why are you wasting my time? I could be looking at Muppets right now.
It doesn't end with that sketch, of course. Vincent spends the whole episode doing broad, hammy takes to the camera, while the Muppets do their best to live up to the horror theme around him. This is the first theme episode, by the way, where they build the whole episode around one particular thing. It's a good tweak to the format -- it makes the episode feel coherent, and it sets the stage for great things to come.
It's just a shame when you theme the episode around horror and chills, and then the guest star shows up, and he's your grandma.
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Rhodalutionary
Friday, Aug 15
"Hi ho, and welcome again to The Muppet Show!" says Kermit. "Boy, we've got a great show for you tonight, because our special guest star is that wonderful actress and comedienne, Miss Valerie Harper!"
I'm kidding, of course. Kermit doesn't say that. In fact, he doesn't introduce the show at all. We don't even see Kermit onstage introducing anything until eight minutes into the first half.
In other words, welcome to the dying days of Season One, when the producers are still trying to figure the format of the show. Actually, what's happening is that they've got the original format down cold by now -- so they're experimenting a little more, to see what else they can do.
So instead of opening with Kermit's introduction, the episode starts backstage, where Kermit is spatting with a grumbling George. Then the stage door opens... and Valerie Harper walks up the stairs.
I don't think I can overstate what a huge moment this is for the future of the show. Twenty episodes in, this is actually the very first time we've ever seen a guest star backstage. There was a brief scene with Lena Horne in her dressing room, but Valerie's the first human to enter the main backstage set. It's a small step for Rhoda, a huge leap for The Muppet Show.
Kermit welcomes her to the show, and tells her he's glad she's there. Valerie says she's hoping he'll let her do a big opening number for the show tonight. "Well," Kermit says, "we had planned to open the show with Bertha Beasley and her Galloping Geese... but actually, uh, Bertha isn't here yet, and the show's about to start."
Pssst, Kermit! The show started a minute and a half ago. This is one of the things I love best about The Muppet Show -- this illusion that they're essentially making the show up at the last minute, that things can go wrong, and they'll have to ad-lib.
If you take this too literally, it's a ludicrous idea that the guest star would arrive just as the show was starting, and negotiate to perform the opening number seconds before it's about to begin. But somehow, the seat-of-the-pants illusion is so powerful, and the results are so funny, that you just go with it.
Valerie tells Kermit that Bertha's not showing up: "I scotch-taped a bushel of birdseed to her body. Even as we speak, geese are pecking her into oblivion." She's determined to do the number, and asks for a chance to audition. Kermit says sure -- so Valerie sings "Broadway Baby" right there, dancing up the stairs, ducking into the dressing rooms to do a series of quick costume changes.
She performs the entire number backstage, finishing with a pose on the stairs. The camera pulls back, and we see marquee lights ring the backstage -- and the Muppet Show cast standing below her, applauding.
She never does go and perform the number "onstage" for the Muppet Theater's audience. They just cut to Statler and Waldorf talking about Valerie as if they've seen her perform -- even though the imaginary geography of the theater makes that impossible.
But the attitude here is, essentially, who cares? If you've seen the show so far, you already have a good sense of how it works -- so they can casually violate the "rules" of the show, and it still holds together. From here, we can cut to a regular Swedish Chef spot and a News Flash gag, and the show just goes on.
Backstage, they're still playing. Statler has decided he's in love with Valerie Harper, so he leaves Waldorf in the balcony and visits backstage. He's brought a plant for Valerie -- a fast-growing African berry bush -- and the story of the episode is that George keeps watering the plant, which grows out of control and takes over the whole room.
The fun thing about this is that for the rest of the episode, Waldorf is alone in the balcony. Left to his own devices, Waldorf makes faces to amuse himself and practices his flips. It's a more gentle format tweak than Valerie's impromptu opening -- but it's another example of the producers' growing confidence in the show.
For the closing, we see Valerie talking to Kermit in her dressing room -- another unusual season-one occurrence that's about to become part of the show's routine. She's looking forward to her final dance number, but she's a little nervous -- it's been a long time since she's danced. Kermit goes to introduce her, and Valerie looks straight into the camera. "Hang in there, gang," she tells us. "This could be the start of a new career... or the end of one."
She doesn't have to worry. It's a great number. Valerie dances with the Clodhoppers -- bumping into them, doing the wrong steps, hitting bad notes, and generally acting like she doesn't know what she's doing. It's a perfect Muppet Show number -- and over the next four years, we'll be seeing lots more stuff like this.
This is definitely the start of something new.
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