he rode a blazing saddle

The internet is filled with opinions. There is a recent trend among posts on such micro-blogger sites as X and Threads as far as opinions are concerned. That is the concept of "unpopular opinion." Users preface their unpopular opinion posts with "Unpopular opinion, but..." and proceed to offer an opinion on a particular topic. "Unpopular," however, is a relative term, depending on the circles in which you travel. Statements like "Unpopular opinion but, mustard doesn't belong on any type of sandwich." are just looking for an argument. The ones that say things like "Unpopular opinion but, Charles Manson was an awful person" are just plain stupid. Opinions on things like television shows, movies, books or food are just opinions. They can only be labeled "popular" or "unpopular" depending on who is reading the statement. I have noticed that a lot of "unpopular" opinions reflect the way I feel. So, I will venture into the realm of "unpopular opinions" and register one of my own.

"Unpopular opinion but, I can't watch Blazing Saddles anymore."

I saw Blazing Saddles in its initial theatrical release. I went to the movies with my parents. It was six months before my 13th birthday. I was familiar with Mel Brooks and his brand of comedy. I loved watching Get Smart. I loved seeing Mel and then partner Carl Reiner play out their "2000 Year Old Man" act on the Ed Sullivan Show. I loved staying up to see Mel Brooks give a frenzied interview on The Tonight Show with  Johnny Carson. I got most of the jokes in The Producers, the first Mel Brooks movie I ever saw and one of my mom's favorites. But when Blazing Saddles hit the theaters, my dad couldn't wait to see it.

My dad was a proud racist. He watched All in the Family as though it was a documentary. He spewed out ethnic epithets as part of his normal everyday conversation. He spoke the notorious "N-word" the way some people say "good morning." That word popped up regularly in dinnertime conversation. My father often peppered his rundown of the day's activities with the "N-word" when describing interactions with customers at the supermarket at which he worked. Sporting events broadcast on television were cheered on by my father with phrases like "look at that 'N-word' run!" It was only as an adult that I realized that this was so grossly wrong and — in hindsight — it should have turned my stomach the way it does now.

My father didn't stop at African-Americans. His vitriol was hurled at Asians, Italians, those of Polish extraction, the Irish, Catholics and even Jews... despite the fact that we were Jewish! So, when my dad read the early reviews of Blazing Saddles, he couldn't wait to be a part of the experience. And when we saw the film... boy! oh boy! did my dad laugh. To be honest, everyone laughed.

Yes, yes... I fully understand that Blazing Saddles was written as biting satire. I know that Mel Brooks collaborated with Richard Pryor, a pioneer in controversial comedy and himself master of topical satire. I get that the way certain words and phrases in Blazing Saddles are used was very well thought out. The jokes are always at the expense of the bigoted ignorant characters. These characters are presented as too stupid to know they are stupid. Cleavon Little, as protagonist "Sheriff Bart," is intelligent and always outsmarts the brainless townspeople. I know that Richard Pryor encouraged Mel Brooks to employ the "N-word" in an effort to "tell the truth" about how racial prejudice functions as a brutal weapon in America. Mel Brooks fought with Warner Brothers over the inclusion of the word. Brooks, whose contract explicitly gave him final content control, stood his ground, making few and insignificant changes to the script.

I get all that. But in 2026, I cringe when I hear that word.

I am reminded of a time when that word was used in sitcoms that I watched. It was used on Sanford and Son, All in the Family and The Jeffersons. It was famously used in a skit on a first season episode of Saturday Night Live, where host Richard Pryor and cast member Chevy Chase played a very racially-charged game of Word Association. I am reminded of a time when that word rolled off my father's tongue like he was asking my brother to "pass the peas" at the dinner table. The use of that word, over time, tapered off on television to the point where now, it is audibly "bleeped" and appears as a line of asterisks in closed-captioning. 

This afternoon, Turner Classic Movies is showing a selection of Mel Brooks movies in honor of his 100th birthday. Wedged between Spaceballs and Young Frankenstein is Blazing Saddles.

Happy Birthday, Mel Brooks. I still can't bring myself to watch.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

famous in a small town

I was a big fan of the Andy Griffith Show. I still am. I have seen the original 249 episodes so many times that it's gotten to the point where I can identify a particular episode within the first minute. (Sadly, I watch so much "classic" television, I can employ this same ability with many shows. Kind of like a trained monkey.) 

Nothing compares to you

The "Andy Taylor" character was introduced on a 1960 episode of The Danny Thomas Show as a back-door pilot. General Foods, the show's sponsor, immediately signed to back the new series and The Andy Griffith Show debuted later the same year. At first, Andy Griffith's character was a scheming, backwoods "good ol' boy," presiding as sheriff over the fictional North Carolina hamlet of Mayberry. But as the show went on, Andy became more of a family man and the voice of reason, gently guiding the citizens of Mayberry in often heartwarming tales. Sure there was an amount of humor — mostly provided by the stalwart supporting cast of Don Knotts, Frances Bavier and Howard McNear — but the stories that involved Andy's relationship with his son Opie proved to be the most memorable. The series placed in the top ten in ratings for its entire eight-season run. Originally, Andy Griffith signed on for — and was only interested in — five seasons. As Season Five drew to a close, popular co-star (and multiple Emmy Award winner) Don Knotts, expecting to soon be unemployed, negotiated a five picture deal with Universal Studios. Meanwhile, CBS threw a ton of money at Andy Griffith and he reluctantly committed to three more seasons. As a result, Knotts left the show, the series began filming in garish color and things took a turn. Although, it remained popular, The Andy Griffith Show — beginning with Season Six — morphed into a surrealistic clone of shows like The Beverly Hillbillies and Green Acres. Andy became the sole normal person in a town filled with unrealistic lunatics. Looking like a forerunner to David Lynch's Twin Peaks, Andy became less of a sheriff and more of a stranger in a strange land. The citizens of Mayberry became one-dimensional cartoonish weirdos instead of the outré but friendly folks of the show's early days. Characters like Emmett the pompous fix-it man, Goober the bumpkin grease monkey and stuffy pseudo-intellectual county clerk Howard Sprague became more prominent and the situations became more slapstick. Eventually Andy Griffith had had enough. As the final season came to an end, genial Ken Berry was introduced as a gentleman farmer, all set to become the focus of the town's subsequent adventures in Mayberry RFD. Berry's "Sam Jones" was a level-headed, even-keeled fellow, cast from the same mold as Sheriff Andy Taylor. Except, Ken Berry was no Andy Griffith. He was close, but he lacked Griffith's large, authoritative demeanor. Andy was funny and frequently sarcastic, especially when it came to ribbing his deputy played by Knotts. "Sam Jones" was very laid back and vaguely humorless.

I'll give you two seasons. 

Mayberry RFD premiered on September 23, 1968 with Sheriff Andy Taylor and school teacher Helen Crump getting married. Don Knotts as "Deputy Barney Fife," as well as Andy Griffith Show regulars Ron Howard and Frances Bavier were also on hand as familiar faces to boost series' rating and appeal. As Mayberry RFD found its footing and its audience, Andy and his family moved to Raleigh and were never seen in Mayberry again. Sam, his son Mike and the goofy citizens of Mayberry were on their own to carry the show. Inexplicably, "Aunt Bee" (played by befuddled Frances Bavier) stayed on as Sam's housekeeper, despite being Andy Taylor's aunt.

I watched Mayberry RFD, but I would not classify myself as a "fan." You have to remember, back in the days of "classic television," we only had three networks from which to choose entertainment. We often watched TV shows just because "they were on." If you didn't watch television, you were forced to do something constructive or perhaps even interact with your family. So, folks would slog through poorly written garbage like My Mother the Car rather than help their kids with homework or fix that broken screen door. Not that Mayberry RFD was on par with My Mother the Car, but its production and writing certainly wasn't up to the standards of — say — The Dick Van Dyke Show... or even The Andy Griffith Show. Mayberry RFD just continued the silly sitcom-y writing of late seasons of The Andy Griffith Show that brought the series to a sad demise.

The Three Shumuck-skateers

First of all, no matter how nice a guy Sam Jones was, there was no way — no way in hell! — that he'd be friends with Goober, Howard and Emmett. I understand that Mayberry was a small town and the pickin's were slim, but Goober was an uncouth, loutish moron who wasn't remotely aware of the limits of his limited knowledge. Sure he could change an oil filter, but when it came to participating in a conversation, he'd quickly expose his lack of social relevance by quoting Captain Whammo, his favorite comic book hero. Emmett Clark was no better. As proprietor of the fix-it shop, this conceited idiot would treat every out-of-commission item brought to him in the manner — he'd smack it with a ball-peen hammer. Despite his reputation as a "fix-it" man, Emmett couldn't pour water out of a boot if the instructions were printed on the sole, yet he had the Mayberry market cornered in the fix-it business. Howard Sprague, the self-assured, self-proclaimed intellectual, goes out of his way to phrase the most common expressions in a haughty collective of obscure synonyms for the sole purpose of appearing smart (and being an asshole). When know-it-all Emmett mixed the paint color to the wrong shade while graciously painting Sam's house, Howard explained that the "pigmentation was of the incorrect hue." Oh, fuck you and your pigmentation, Howard.

Hutchins? Swanson?

Sam's love interest is clearly the most attractive woman in Mayberry — Millie Swanson, the cheery counter girl at the bakery, as played by the adorably quirky Arlene Golonka. She is so out of Sam's league, but since she is stuck in Mayberry, she has to make due. Curiously, when Millie was a character in the late seasons of The Andy Griffith Show (and her last name was "Hutchins") she came this close to marrying Howard Sprague. That story line was never acknowledged once Millie and Sam became an item. It should be noted that just prior to the series premiere of Mayberry RFD, Arlene Golonka played a feisty prostitute in the Clint Eastwood Western Hang 'Em High. I don't believe that occupation existed in Mayberry, so Millie was relegated to the closest approximation  — working in a bakery. In several episodes, I swear I caught Goober, Howard and even the married Emmett ogling Millie when she popped in to Sam's county office in her little pink bakery dress.

Jodie's bro

Mike, Sam Jones' typically average sitcom son, was played by Buddy Foster.... and he was no Ron Howard. Buddy, whose unsure raspy vocals gave voice to both the little boy in the iconic "How Many Licks?" Tootsie Roll commercial and the "Count's Son" in the Ringo Starr-narrated, Harry Nilsson-scored animated fable The Point, learned nothing from his Academy Award-winning sister Jodie. His on-camera performances were less than memorable and painfully uninspired. He lacked Ron Howard's charm, comic timing and acting capability. Buddy delivered his lines as though he was just handed the day's shooting script and he just learned how to read.

Know your Alices

In the second season of Mayberry RFD, Aunt Bee was replaced by Sam's ex-Army sergeant cousin "Alice Cooper," played by sitcom staple Alice Ghostley. That's right — Alice Cooper. In 1970, the boundary-pushing shock rocker was still a couple of years away from superstardom. The band (at that time, "Alice Cooper" was the name of the band) had released two albums to mostly negative reviews, but they were slowly gaining attention for their outrageous live performance. However, Mayberry RFD's target demographic was far removed from the burgeoning rock & roll scene. The coincidental character name would only be funny for future viewers of the show's reruns. Alice brought her signature bewildered character to the Jones' household — awkwardly fitting into her new surroundings and, once, even impulsively purchasing an antique harp. (Hilarity ensued.)

Mayberry RFD often resorted to recycling old premises from other TV series, including the Andy Griffith Show. I suppose they hoped that in the pre-VCR, pre-digital recording, pre-streaming services era, no one would notice. But now... oh, I noticed. There's an episode when Mike is coerced by his shitty friends into driving a car. When the underage Mike gives in to peer-pressure and crashes said car, his friends take off posthaste, leaving Mike to take the full brunt of his easy-going dad's wrath. This scenario is straight from the Leave It To Beaver playbook. Another episode puts Millie, eager to break out of the bakery game, in a secretarial position. The ultra-naïve Millie is unaware that her employers are bookies. This is a direct lift of a Season Six installment of the Andy Griffith Show in which Aunt Bee innocently takes a job working for counterfeiters. As the series progressed, more episodes focused on one of the many supporting characters, giving each a full 22 minutes in the spotlight.

Purge

At the end of the 1971 television season, despite wide-reaching popularity and high ratings, CBS president Robert Woods pressured Head of Programming Michael Dunn to cancel all of CBS's so-called "rural" shows. This included The Beverly Hillbillies, Green Acres, Petticoat Junction, Hee Haw and The Red Skelton Show, a variety series with a decidedly older, Midwestern appeal. Dunn personally hated these shows, but was hesitant to cancel them because they still garnered high ratings... and high ratings equaled sponsorship dollars. A frustrated Robert Woods fired Michael Dunn, bringing in Fred Silverman, who had no problem dropping the proverbial ax, thus implementing the notorious "rural purge." (Green Acres star, the venerable Pat Buttram noted: "CBS canceled everything with a tree in it — including Lassie.) Silverman ushered in a new, ground-breaking and influential era of television with shows like The Mary Tyler Moore Show, All in the Family, Cannon, Kojak and The Sonny and Cher Show, a variety show that was way hipper than Red Skelton's folksy revue. Mayberry RFD was also a victim of the rural purge. Its final episode, a confounding tale of Emmett's invention being of interest to an aerospace company, was broadcast in March 1971. 

Not for Buddy

In the aftermath, Ken Berry landed a show more suited to his talents as a song-and-dance man. The Ken Berry Wow Show showcased up-and-coming performers like Teri Garr, Cheryl Ladd and a budding young comedian named Steve Martin. Goober and Emmett (George Lindsey and Paul Hartman) showed up on The New Andy Griffith Show, a short-lived attempt at rekindling the Mayberry spirit. Although Andy was a different character, Goober and Emmett were the same two lunkheads from Mayberry. That show lasted 13 weeks. Lindsey took his "Goober" persona over to the syndicated version of Hee Haw, which in spite of its cancelation by CBS, went on to a successful 23 more seasons. Paul Hartman, however, passed away in 1973. Alice Ghostley, Jack Dodson (who played "Howard Sprague") and Arlene Golonka all enjoyed continued success, showing up in various film and television roles over the next several decades. Buddy Foster....? I suppose his sister invites him over for Thanksgiving dinner. He'll come... as long as she hides her Oscars.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

the first time ever I saw your face

I have always loved stand-up comedy. I remember seeing forgotten funny men like London Lee (not particularly funny), Jack Carter (not particularly funny) and others on the Ed Sullivan Show. I was sometimes permitted to stay up late to watch George Carlin or Albert Brooks on the Tonight Show. One summer, my family was vacationing in Atlantic City. ("Vacationing" for the Pincuses was a weekend - about all my father could take.) One night, my usually disagreeable father followed my mother's lead and we all went to see Totie Fields at Steel Pier. My mom loved Totie Fields and my father sort-of feared my mother.

In the early 1980s, a couple of entrepreneurial guys opened up a small comedy club on the second floor of a pretty popular restaurant in Center City Philadelphia. They were open practically every evening with featured "big name" headliners reserved for weekend performances. The roster of comics boasted a number of budding Philadelphia-based folks mixed with performers who had graced the stages of similar comedy clubs in New York and Los Angeles. For around eight bucks, a weekend show offered an emcee, three warm-up comics and a headliner. All ages were welcome, but the drinking age of 21 was strictly enforced. I didn't turn 21 until the summer of 1982, so it was Cokes for me and my friends until then.

I don't remember how many times I attended performances at the Comedy Works, but it was a lot. I saw dozens and dozens of comedians. Some were young, anxious souls hoping for a career making people laugh. Others were weekend comics, who went to regular jobs during the week. Still others were "old pros" at the trade, grinding out the same routine on a different stage in a different town, wishing one night a talent scout would approach them after the show and invite them to perform on the stage next to Johnny Carson's desk.

I saw a lot of comedians who went on to bigger and better. Native Philadelphian Tom Wilson was a regular at the Comedy Works and I saw him often. He'd bring his trusty tuba on stage and punctuate portions of his routine with blasts from the big brass horn. After a few years as a familiar face at the Comedy Works, Tom announced that he was leaving the Philadelphia area for a Hollywood destination. I was in the audience for his final Comedy Works performance. Several years later, the opening credits of Robert Zemeckis's Back to the Future listed one "Thomas F. Wilson" as the villainous knucklehead "Biff Tannen." Sure enough, his first screen appearance revealed it was "our Tom."

My friends and I secured front-row seats for headliner Jackie "The Joke Man" Martling, a well-known comedy writer and then-sidekick for a pre-"World Domination" Howard Stern. Jackie's delivery was rapid-fire and his off-the-cuff observations were targeted at the audience before him. My friends and I decided to provide Jackie with a little inspiration. As soon as Jackie was announced and took the stage, we all donned large cowboy hats in full view of "The Joke Man." He got an eyefull of us and let loose with some of the most vile, disgusting.... and hilarious material I'd ever heard. We asked for it and he delivered.

Over the years, I was treated to early career sets from Bob Saget, Craig Shoemaker, Todd Glass and a very unmemorable set from late comedian Richard Jeni. But that wasn't Richard's fault.

The first weekend in April 1981, Richard Jeni was the scheduled headliner at the Comedy Works. In the tiny ad that appeared in the entertainment section of the Evening Bulletin, only the headliner's name was listed, along with the phrase "and support" or "and others," but never their names. In 1981, I recognized the name Richard Jeni, so I contacted my regular "comedy club" friends and we headed down for the show.

The line for admittance wasn't anything out of the ordinary. We paid the small admission fee and were escorted to a table about four or five rows back from the stage — about midway in the 300-seat venue. At showtime, the regular emcee (club co-owner Steve Young) made a few jokes before introducing the first comic. I don't remember who it was — probably someone local. Soon the second performer was welcomed... and I don't remember who that was either. Steve came to the mic and announced the next comedian as a "young man, just coming up in show business and making his Comedy Works debut... oh and you might have seen him on Saturday Night Live." 

Honestly, in 1981, nobody I knew was watched Saturday Night Live. The original cast of "Not Ready for Prime Time Players" were replaced by a cast of unknowns and there was no longer a reason to stay home to watch. So, the young comedian that was just introduced bounded up to the microphone and proceeded to immediately knock the audience. on its collective ass. He was hysterical. Hysterical, like no one I had ever seen. Hysterical, as in laughing so hard that you could not catch your breath. The room was so filled with loud, raucous laughter that half of the guy's material was missed because it was drowned out with laughter from the previous punchlines. People were literally crying from laughing so hard. I have seen a lot of comedians. I had never seen a reaction like this.

Eventually, the young man's set ended and the emcee introduced Richard Jeni, the evening's headliner. At least I assume that's what happened next. In reality, I don't remember hearing another introduction and I do not remember seeing Richard Jeni come on stage and I certainly don't remember a single topic that Richard Jeni talked about. I don't even remember a single word Richard Jeni said. I'm not so sure he was even there.

What I do remember is that everyone — everyone in the entire room — was talking about how unbelievably funny the previous comedian was. Everyone was ignoring poor Richard Jeni, as the discussion of the previous act grew louder throughout the venue. At the evening's conclusion, the emcee thanked everyone for coming and, as the crowd made its way towards the exit, lively chatter about comedian number three could still be heard.

The young man who was announced prior to Richard Jeni and stole the spotlight right out from under him was Eddie Murphy.

It was his only Comedy Works appearance.

He went on to bigger and better.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

little shop, little shop of horrors

This story appeared a few weeks ago on my illustration blog. I wrote it after I read that actor Jonathan Haze passed away. Jonathan was the star of the original 1960 version of the non-musical film "Little Shop of Horrors." However, the story is actually about my relationship with my mom. I had a great relationship with my mom and this story illustrates it very well. If you already read this story on my illustration blog... thanks. If you didn't... here it is.  — JPiC

Many, many years ago, my mom’s friend Arlene recommended a film called Little Shop of Horrors. She told my mom, in a phone conversation, that she had stumbled upon this little gem while trying to find something to watch during a late-night bout with insomnia. Arlene settled upon this quirky little flick after watching a scene that was riddled with references to the Yiddish humor she had heard as a child. Arlene explained to my mom that the film was somewhere between a science-fiction tale and the stand-up comedy of Borscht Belt comic Myron Cohen. In the days before VCRs, Netflix and other instantaneous home media, we would just have to wait until a repeat showing of Little Shop of Horrors popped up on a local UHF station. (UHF? Ask your parents.) 

A week or so later, my mom spotted a Saturday afternoon showing of Little Shop of Horrors in the daily TV listing of our local newspaper. My mom and I shared a wicked sense of humor, so based on Arlene’s account of the movie, it was right up our alley. My mom and I often bonded over eclectic comedy. We would watch episodes of the (then) newly-discovered Monty Python’s Flying Circus and — quite literally — roll on the floor in uncontrollable peals of laughter… much to my father’s chagrin. While we tried to catch our collective breath, my dad would glare at us and, bark, “I don’t see what’s so funny? I can’t understand a goddamn thing they’re saying!” He’d go back to chain smoking his Chesterfields, reading his newspaper and getting angrier and angrier as my mom and I continued laughing.

Jackie Joseph, Mel Welles, Jonathan Haze
and the ubiquitous Dick Miller

On Saturday afternoon, my mom and I sat down in our den to watch Little Shop of Horrors. My father was off in another room, listening to a Phillies game on the radio, smoking cigarettes and staying well out of earshot of our potential laughter. The film began and within minutes, we were laughing. Between the deadpan opening narration parodying the popular Dragnet format and the dialogue involving a bereft character slyly named “Mrs. Siddie Shiva,” our laughter had progressed to hysterics. As the film continued, it got goofier and goofier. There was a giant man-eating plant, a wildly-masochistic dental patient, a climactic chase through a toilet factory and all sorts of the Jewish humor that Arlene had told my mom about. The cast featured Jackie Joseph, a character actress who frequently showed up in sitcoms and whose distinctive child-like voice was often heard in cartoons like Josie and the Pussycats, as well as a host of unknown actors from producer/director Roger Corman's stock players… including an up-and-comer named Jack Nicholson (as the aforementioned dental patient). “Seymour,” the sad sack main character, was a typical “mama’s boy.” The role was played by Jonathan Haze, the former Jack Schachter from Pittsburgh, who was pumping gas in Southern California when he was offered a role in a Z-grade picture called Monster from the Ocean Floor.

For the next one hundred and eleven minutes, my mom and I laughed and laughed at the improbable antics unfolding in Mushnick’s Flower Shop. There were some overt horror aspects to the film, but overall, it was a hoot and, although presented in earnest, it was definitely played for laughs. 

Years later, my mom and I were surprised when an off-Broadway musical (a musical!), based on this silly little low-budget horror-comedy, was generating a buzz. We were doubly surprised when the off-Broadway production was made into a big-screen musical with Steve Martin, John Candy and Rick Moranis in the role of nebbish “Seymour.”

Jonathan Haze, who originated the role of “Seymour,” passed away this week at the age of 95. Although his published obituaries noted his appearance in Little Shop of Horrors as the pinnacle of his career, he actually enjoyed a career that spanned six decades. Jonathan appeared in over 20 films, including a dozen produced by his friend Roger Corman. He also wrote scripts for a science-fiction parody, as well as an episode of the hipster drama 77 Sunset Strip.

Jonathan also gave my mom and me some hearty laughs.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

keep telling that same dumb joke 'til we both think it's funny

I have always loved watching stand-up comics. I remember how cool it was staying up late to see Don Rickles or Buddy Hackett of The Tonight Show. Watching them deliver a few minutes of anecdotal shtick and spotting Johnny Carson in the shadows, bent over his desk in hysterics, always made me laugh. I enjoyed The Ed Sullivan Show and his knack for mixing up-and-coming comedians with the respected names of the field. George Burns and Jack Benny shared a stage with George Carlin and Richard Pryor. Even though the humor was from opposite ends of the spectrum, it was all funny.

When I got older, I was able to go to see comedians in local clubs. My favorite was "The Comedy Works," a cramped, narrow room two flights above a Middle Eastern restaurant (aptly name "The Middle East") in the historic district of Philadelphia. For under ten bucks, you could see an emcee, three warm-up comics and a headliner of some note. At different times over several years, I saw Bob Saget, Jackie "The Joke Man" Martling and Tom Wilson (a year or two before he went on to play "Biff" in the the Back to the Future trilogy). One night in the early 80s, the billed headliner was Richard Jeni, fresh from a few appearances on The Tonight Show. Before Richard took the stage, a young man performed... and he had the entire place rolling in the aisles with laughter. He was so funny that everyone missed parts of his routine because they were unable to be heard over the laughter. When poor Richard Jeni began his act, no one was paying attention. Everyone was still laughing and talking about the young man who had preceded Mr. Jeni. The young man was named Eddie Murphy.

The Comedy Works also featured an "Open Mic" Night. At these mid-week, marathon shows, patrons paid just a few dollars to sit and watch a combination of club regulars trying out new material and amateurs taking a stab at a possible career path. I went to "Open Mic" nights often with my friends. Most nights were pretty uneven with average Joes delivering poorly written, unfunny material. Their few minutes in the spotlight seemed like hours and their embarrassment was palpable. Then a pro would take to the stage and bring the meager audience back to life before the next human anchor would drag the waning crowd down again. After attending a few "Open Mic" Nights, I was persuaded by my friends (my drunk friends) to make an onstage attempt at stand-up comedy with words of encouragement like, "You're funnier than these assholes!" Not one to balk at a challenge..... who am I kidding? I balk at a lot of challenges. But, in this case, I answered the call. Over the course of five months, I observed everything that went on around me and wrote down everything, hoping something would be funny. When the big night came, I stocked the audience with friends and family. The show started at 9. I went on at midnight. By this point, the audience was hammered. I could have read the Yellow Pages aloud and got laughs. Honestly, I did not bomb, but I never made a return engagement, labeling my one-and-only foray into the world of stand-up as "Mission Accomplished" (and not in the George W. Bush sense).

I love watching comedians on TV, but lately I have been disappointed by the recent crop of comics. It seems to me that a great many are just not funny. Or ones that were funny are no longer funny. My biggest complaint is the way comedians are presented. There's an audience filled with people sitting and waiting for a funny person to come on stage and be funny. It is implied "This is a comedian, therefore, he is funny and you must laugh because that is what you do when you see a comedian." Then, they proceed to go on for an hour and offer five, non-consecutive minutes of funny material. But, if you watch the reaction shots, the audience is hysterical for the duration.

In the last few years, I've been to comedy clubs in Philadelphia, where I saw one funny headliner and a gang of lame warm-up acts. Ben Bailey, the host of the TV game show "Cash Cab," was very funny, but the supporting acts elicited crickets from the audience. Emo Phillips (admittedly an acquired taste) was great, but the opening comics were awful.

I have seen recent stand-up specials by Jim Gaffigan, a comedian I once thought was really original and very funny. He is no longer funny and his "I'm fat" shtick is repetitive and not amusing. I have seen Patton Oswalt, whose last special started and ended with a bang but the forty-minutes in the middle were totally forgettable. I watched Demetri Martin, who I thought was very funny — but not for as long as his special's entire running time. I saw Norm MacDonald, who I thought was surprisingly good, but I can't remember any part of his act. I saw T.J. Miller, who I loved on HBO's "Silicon Valley," but I couldn't make it past the first five minutes of his painfully manic and unfunny performance. Recently, Mrs. Pincus and I watched Ellen DeGeneres's new Netflix special — her first in sixteen years. I always liked Ellen's irreverent routines on Johnny Carson's show and previous specials, but this one was disappointing. It was very uneven and her overarching premise of "now I'm rich" wore thin after a while.

Other comedian's specials have been recommended to me, but I have to admit, I am a little gun-shy. I don't want to invest an hour of my time watching a comedian who is not funny. They have one job —to make me laugh. Instead, many have become preachy and introspective and unnecessarily philosophical. You wouldn't go to a dentist and sit in the chair to have your shoes shined, would you? (Wait, the way some people fear dentists, perhaps that is a poor analogy.) I guess I'll have to scroll endlessly through the selections on Netflix, HBO and other entertainment offerings to find that elusive comic that will just simply make me laugh.

Or maybe I'll just watch the old-timers on YouTube. Although, they're sometimes not even as funny as I remember.

Hmmm.... maybe it's me. 

Now that's funny!

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

two for the show

I think I have made it quite clear how much I love television. I talk about it. I write about it. I draw characters from it and, of course, I watch it. A lot of it. I will happily admit — I watch a lot of crap. But I don't care. That's what makes television television! 

Some of my favorite networks are those that have recently popped up offering reruns of classic programs that were popular during my youth. My cable provider carries MeTV, Antenna TV, Decades, Heroes & Icons and, of course, TV Land, the original TV revival network, although it has begun to show newer series in addition to a move towards original programming. I love watching the shows on these networks. Aside from Jeopardy! and DVR-ed episodes of The Price is Right, I don't watch too much else. I find that after a day at work, I don't want to concentrate on a complicated plot. I want to watch something familiar and comforting, sort of like the TV equivalent of a grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of tomato soup.

The Good Morning, World gang

Recently, Antenna TV revamped their schedule, as they are prone to do every so often. They shuffled around the broadcast times for some shows while removing others completely from their schedule. They also added some shows which is always exciting, especially if it's one that hasn't surfaced in years. In January 2017, Antenna TV brought back a show called Good Morning, World — a show that, despite my vast knowledge of TV trivia, I was not familiar with. I'll even go one step further. I never heard of it. Good Morning, World was the creation of Bill Persky and Sam Denoff, a pair of writers who previously piled their trade supplying jokes to a Los Angeles drive-time radio DJ. They graduated to become joke writers for The Steve Allen Show, parlaying that gig to land a coveted spot alongside the great Carl Reiner writing episodes of the beloved Dick Van Dyke Show. The year after The Dick Van Dyke Show left the airwaves, the pair developed a sitcom about a budding actress in New York City. The show, That Girl, was a break-out role for the series star, young Marlo Thomas. Based on the instant popularity of That Girl, Persky and Denoff created another show, this one based on their experiences on morning radio. The result was the one-season wonder Good Morning, World. Originally developed as a vehicle for comedian Ronnie Schell, the popular co-star of the inexplicably hit military sitcom Gomer Pyle, USMC. Schell was wooed away from the consistently high-rated series with the promise of his own show under guidance from the creative force behind The Dick Van Dyke Show. Recruited as Schell's co-star was an unremarkable character actor Joby Baker, a likable enough guy who was obviously being groomed in the Dick Van Dyke mold — a tall order that poor Baker was not prepared for. The cast was rounded out with Julie Parrish as Baker's typical TV sitcom wife, one trick pony Billy DeWolfe as the stuffy, perpetually-annoyed station manager, doing his best "Billy DeWolfe" shtick and a pre-Laugh-in Goldie Hawn at her ditsy finest as Schell's sort-of love interest.

The show, of which I have watched many, many episodes, is not very good. Although it was filmed live in front of a studio audience, the jokes were supplemented by a recorded laugh track. Despite the welcome addition of numerous big-name guest stars (including late '60s heavyweights like Andy Griffith, Jerry Van Dyke, Lynda Day George, Herb Edelman and countless others), the jokes were lame, the situations were predictable and he acting was just plain bad. It's a wonder that Goldie Hawn had a career after this dud. Good Morning, World, which tried desperately to be the Dick Van Dyke Show, lasted for twenty-six episodes before CBS realized it wasn't living up to expectations. Ronnie Schell returned to Gomer Pyle, USMC for its final season. Joby Baker, who had difficulty memorizing lines of dialogue, wound down his acting career and became a painter and illustrator. Julie Parrish took small roles in films and television, but struggled with health issues for a large portion of her life. Billy DeWolfe continued to play the same signature uptight character in numerous films and series until his death in 1974. Good Morning, World remained a footnote to the careers of all involved. And rightly so.

Bridget + Bernie = Love

Another show — this one I do remember — was run as a weekend marathon on Decades. The show, Bridget Loves Bernie, which ran for a single season on CBS, concerned the marriage of a young couple. The couple are Bridget Fitzgerald, an Irish Catholic, and Bernie Steinberg, who is Jewish. They elope, much to the chagrin of their overly-stereotypical, cartoonish parents. Bridget's parents (A hopelessly gentile David Doyle and Audra Linley) are portrayed as one-dimensional, narrow-minded, ridiculously wealthy high-society folks, complete with butler and a Saks Fifth Avenue obsession. The Steinbergs (an overly Jewish Harold J. Stone and Bibi Osterwald) are the owners of a New York delicatessen along with veteran Jewish character actor Ned Glass as wise and understanding "Uncle Moe." Bridget has a brother who is, of course, a priest. Bill Elliott as "Otis," "Bernie's" friend, a hip African-American "voice of reason" that was a part of every predominately white 70s sitcom, rounds out the cast.

The Fitzgeralds and the Steinbergs

I watched Bridget Loves Bernie in its initial run in the 1972-73 television season. I was eleven years old and I received my social lessons from my bigoted father and my liberal mother. My parents both loved the popular sitcom All in the Family for different reasons. My mother "got the joke" and my father thought he was watching a documentary. Every episode of Bridget Loves Bernie focused on some sort of religious conflict. And every conflict was addressed in the most outrageous and racist manner. Every single religion cliche was dragged out and blatantly splayed across every scene. The Catholic family assumed that everyone was Catholic, interacting with the Jewish family as though they were aliens and speaking to them in condescending tones. The Jewish family dismissed all things Catholic as "unheard of" while constantly making "delicatessen-related" analogies for every situation. When I was a kid, I didn't really get it. My father laughed at the "Jewish" jokes, frowned at the "Catholic" ones and quietly ogled the young Meredith Baxter, who played "Bridget." My mother was indifferent but enjoyed watching the dark good looks of co-lead David Birney. The show was very popular, ranking in an impressive 5th place among shows in the '72-'73 television season. However, CBS was bombarded with complaints from both Jewish and Catholic groups expressing outrage over how situations were presented and handled. Jewish organizations led the way, though, citing the show as a "flagrant insult to Jews." Meredith Baxter told of bomb threats called in to the studio during tapings. Producer Ralph Riskin was physically threatened by the Jewish Defense League's notorious Robert Manning. CBS, not wanting to deal with the negativity and the controversy any longer, pulled the plug on Bridget Loves Bernie in March 1973. I watched nearly every episode of Bridget Loves Bernie during the Decades "binge-watching" weekend — because I will admittedly watch almost anything. I had a much different reaction from when I was eleven. This time around, I cringed.

But it was on television, so, of course I watched. Because that's what I do. I watch. 

And learn.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

if I wanted someone to clean me up I'd find myself a maid

My love for old television shows is no secret. Every morning, before I go to work, I pour myself a cup of coffee and stretch out on the sofa for a short visit to the black and white world of McHale's Navy or I Love Lucy* or The Donna Reed Show. I love the nostalgia of times past. I love the novelty of the far-fetched situations. I love seeing famous actors in bit parts early in their careers. (I've spotted a pre-Oscar-winning Cloris Leachman seeking advice from wise neighbor Donna Stone on The Donna Reed Show, Estelle Parsons, another Oscar winner, as a prospective customer for vacuum cleaner salesgirl Patty Duke and Jack Nicholson as the frantic father of a missing boy on The Andy Griffith Show.) I love the uncomplicated mawkishness of Mary having two dates for the same night or the panic over Uncle Tonoose dropping in for an extended weekend stay. (Cue spit take!)

There is one show, however, I do not get. I watch it, mind you, I just don't know why. I don't enjoy it. I can't, for the life of me figure out its appeal or who its target audience was in its initial run from its premiere in 1961 to its swan song in 1966. With each episode (and there are five seasons worth!), it gets increasingly frustrating.

Of course, I'm talking about Hazel.

At one time, Shirley Booth was a popular, versatile and well-respected actress. She made her debut on the Broadway stage in 1925 and went on to win an impressive three Tony Awards including Best Actress in the gut-wrenching drama Come Back Little Sheba. Shirley reprised the role of "Lola Delaney" in the film version of the play and won an Academy Award for her effort. She also received high praise for her role as "Dolly Levi" in Thornton Wilder's The Matchmaker, the non-musical source for Hello Dolly. Although she only made five films in her career, she was a staple in live theater, originating the roles in The Desk Set and Summertime that Katherine Hepburn eventually played in the films. She was the wise-cracking "Miss Duffy" on radio's Duffy's Tavern and she auditioned for, but lost, the lead role in Our Miss Brooks to Eve Arden.

Mr. B and Missy

In 1961, Shirley Booth was tapped for the live-action portrayal of Ted Key's cartoon maid Hazel, a popular character frequently appearing in single-panel strips in the Saturday Evening Post. The half-hour sitcom co-starred Don Defore as George "Mr. B" Baxter, Hazel's irascible employer, Whitney Blake as his ever-patient wife and little Bobby Buntrock as their son Harold. The show chronicled Hazel's weekly exercise in meddling, interfering, insubordination and arrogance. She was a smug, sneaky, obnoxious, condescending, self-righteous troublemaker. She regularly second-guessed and undermined both Mr B's business dealings and home life, despite bragging to the other maids that she worked for a "prominent attorney who practically runs the city for the mayor." She repeatedly interrupted client meetings with inane crusades for a new flower garden in the park or a new jungle gym for the playground. She often talked back — or worse — talked over her boss. Sure, she made impossibly flaky and delicious dinner rolls, but that's hardly an argument for putting up with all that other nonsense.

Still, I can't figure out who the hell was watching and enjoying this infuriating bullshit? Who was relating to this? I grew up in a middle class family in the 1960s. We didn't have a live-in maid. I didn't know anyone who had a maid, live-in or otherwise. Yet, everyone in the Baxter's neighborhood has a maid — and Hazel is friends with all of them. (And by "friends," I mean she's sticking her bulbous nose into their business as well.)

Meet the new boss.
Same as the old boss.

I can't understand why the ever-exasperated Mr. Baxter didn't fire Hazel's ass the first time she talked back to him or fucked up some important family plan or business venture because "she had a better idea." Hazel criticizes Mr. B's weight, clothing, golf game, business decisions and friends. She barges into personal husband-wife discussions (May I point out that the lovely Whitney Blake is way out of Mr. B's league!) and dispenses un-asked-for advice to impressionable young Harold (who thinks Hazel is "the greatest!"). When Defore and Blake were unceremoniously canned in favor of a more youthful couple, Ray Fulmer and Lynne Borden were introduced as George's brother and sister-in-law. Hazel went to work for them, inexplicably taking Harold along with her. But for some reason, Hazel was an instant hit and a ratings monster. It ranked in the Top 25 shows for most of its five seasons, including the Number 4 spot during its first. I know there weren't as many television choices as there are today, but — jeez! — I think I would have watched almost anything besides this irritating depiction of suburban life.

So, why do I watch it now? Because, in comparison, I would rather suffer through Hazel disrespecting poor Mr. B than be subjected to the reality shit storm that The Today Show has become.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

* It should be noted that I like everyone in I Love Lucy, except for Lucy. The ensemble cast — William Frawley, Vivian Vance and Desi Arnaz — are funny. Lucille Ball, however, is annoying, overbearing and not at all funny. Maybe they should have called the show "I Love Everyone Except Lucy." But, I watch it just the same.