But I digress. Back to television. In a strange 40 minute burst of channel flipping, I was alarmed to see not one but four different late 80's actors in very bizarre roles, mere shadows of their once lofty selves. Here they are, in no specific order:
Cousin Larry
In The Past: Cousin Larry, AKA Mark Lin-Baker, excelled as the bumbling, misguided Chicagoite who was constantly set straight by his eastern block cousin from Mepos. Whether it was rushing the time-sensitive bimi-babkas, bulging his eyes, or screaming from a high rise roof top, Larry was a solid example of the unlikeable mook made better by his far off relative.
In The Present After a visit to the winery where John worked, one would have thought Larry would have faded quietly into retirement, reaping the rewards of countless Perfect Strangers reruns. But low and behold, there he was on some crappy WB or UPN sitcom with parents and kids, strife and forced laughs. He was the cliche hardworking Dad who was shocked at his daughter's choice of date, dumber than his much-more-attractive wife, etc. The show was so bad, I was embarrassed for Lin-Baker--and keep in mind, the standard I'm measuring his dignity against is Cousin Larry.
Balki
In a bizarre Perfect Strangers two-pronged attack, the kind-hearted and well-to-do Balki has resurfaced in a much more menacing form, this time as Bronson Pinchot himself. Apparently, some awful reality show (maybe on VH1) has Balki as his real self--a bloated loser who lurks around like some middle aged sexual predator while his washed-up co-stars fend off his awkward advances. Unlike his lithe previous incarnation, who kicked out the dance of joy with ease, this Balki was sinister, fatty, and creepy, replete with the hairy, pasty gut of a guy in his 50's that lives in a van with no windows. There shall never be another dance of joy.
Carrot Top
In a world rife with Top haters, I have always had a soft spot for the carrotine rich prop comedian. Any of you Marist folk might recall, an especially spirited Top performance brought the audience to tears (from laughter, mind you). Scrawny and goofy, that's how I like my Carrot Tops.
But, something awful has happened to CT. He's had a Cher-like face lift that makes him resemble one of my hated Anna-Lee dolls. Place that gruesome head atop a huge, mutated body rippling with carroty muscles and you have yourself enough nightmare fuel for a decade of sleepless nights. If you haven't seem him, Carrot Top is now an accomplished body builder, which now proves he now has a direct repetoire with Satan himself. There is a rule in life: people with muscles are never, ever funny. Fat people? Yes. Scrawny dudes? Yup, they'll elicit chuckles galore. Buff people mainly look like they want to break your arms when trying to tell a joke; you laugh out of fear. Top has over-compensated big time. Once expects him to drive a hummer and curse out toll-booth guys for not giving him the right change. Top has hulked out in a way that leaves me sad and fearful.
Theo Huxstable
Finally we come to Theo, the affable Cosby kid who rapped with Stevie Wonder and had a best pal named Cockroach (real name: Walter). He was a harmless, spunky kid, a hit with the gals from glee club and the church choir. Theo was Up With People.
But again, UPN or WB presents a new thuggish Theo, all grown up and living in a spooky apartment. He too has been transformed into a threatening sexual predator, cursing left and right and chiming in about booty calls to his equally creepy room mate. Gone is the Theo who might tell you that you dropped your keys on the sidewalk; here now is a Theo who is ready to give you a gangland style beat down for looking at him the wrong way.
I suppose the 00's (oughts?) have no room for charming, likeable folks and have streamlined the status quo to give us bulging carrots and mean spirited sitcom guys. It's enough to deal with the "stupid oaf with the mis-proportionally attractive wife" crap, now we have to confront those characters kindly cemented in the past in a horrible new light. We are the keepers of the flame, those of us who had Mr. Belevedere and now have the Nanny. For every Urkel (who has also gotten buff and tough, just more out of the spotlight), we have an anorexic Olsen twin. Farewell Paul Pfieffer, your likes have no place on our late night viewing. And thank you for not reappearing as a musclebound mafia hitman who beats women and kicks puppies.
