Why Jerry won't change

Seinfeld's still ticking, despite our critic's licking

by Richard B. Eckhaus

Harry Crane, a legendary comedy writer, was in a preproduction
meeting for the old Dean Martin Show when he and his
colleagues were informed that the upcoming show's guest star, an
over-the-hill pop singer, had been promised a funny sketch of her
own.

"Are you nuts??!" the outraged Crane shrieked at his boss. "She
is the dumbest, most untalented pile of garbage in show business!
Give me one good reason to have her on our show!"

Silence, then . . .

"Dean likes her," the executive producer growled.

"Wait a minute," Harry protested, "you didn't let me finish." A sudden wave of laughter swept the
room. Harry Crane had escaped certain doom with the skill of Harry Houdini.

When a politician sticks his foot in his mouth, a spin doctor can be counted on to say that we didn't
really hear what we thought we heard but were victims of a subversive act of ventriloquism. It's not
so easy for us writers. When we commit ourselves to stupid viewpoints, we do it on paper, leaving
behind plenty of evidence -- like canaries. For example, in the December 17, 1993 issue of the
Phoenix I predicted that Seinfeld, television's most popular sit-com, would be gone within a year.
Well, it's been three years, and Seinfeld is still hot -- the #1 or #2 rated show nearly every week.

So this is where I am expected to admit that I was completely and inexcusably WRONG. Sure, I
could do that, but that would be too easy.

Back in 1993, I supported my "Seinfeld est mort" theory with knowledge of the genre garnered from
years of experience as a TV comedy writer, facts gleaned from other publications, and smugness.
Conceding that some of my favorite sit-coms had been bombs, and confessing to my own role in a
few losers, I expended a great deal of wind to say that in spite of its popularity Seinfeld was doomed
because of its annoying characters and repetitive story lines.

Three days after my article appeared, I received a call from one of Seinfeld's writers. It turned out
that the parents of this writer (name withheld to cover my ass), local folks, had been on their way
from Logan to visit him in LA when they noticed a stack of newspapers emblazoned with "IS
SEINFELD DEAD?" They bought a copy, read my article on the plane, landed in Los Angeles, and
immediately berated him for his choice of careers.

After I apologized for having caused him grief, he told me that the piece had been passed around the
office, "but not to Jerry or Larry [David, the show's co-creator]," he quickly added. "They don't like
criticism." As for the rest of the staff's opinion: "At first they wondered, `Who is this asshole?', but
then we talked it over and realized you were right. We have been writing the same show every
week, but that's what the brass wants. It seems to work, and we get paid too damned much to
object."

I couldn't argue with that.

But why hasn't Seinfeld lost its audience? Has it undergone an almost imperceptible change -- a
freshening that's guaranteed its continued success? Well, let's see.

Jerry Seinfeld, the whining New York comic, is still playing "Jerry Seinfeld," a fictional whining New
York comic whose booming career has been built on a single nightclub and satiric gems like "Ever
notice that women and men shop for clothing differently?"

The TV Jerry still dates women he wants to insult, but mostly he continues to get together with his
friends for regular screaming sessions. It seemed for a while that Jerry had begun to perform at
different clubs, but they were just fooling us by switching around backdrops and tables. This ruse
was undone by its reliance on a too-familiar laugh track -- the one with the now-dead audience from
I Love Lucy.

Elaine Bennis continues to be an average psychotic young woman with a perpetual, capped-tooth grin
that gives her a striking resemblance to a '49 Buick. Elaine was once Jerry's lover but has since
decided to sleep only with her bosses, therapists, and any maniac she runs into. Back in 1993 her
career was no model of stability, but she's now on the management fast track at J. Peterman, the
mail-order firm. Of course, no one at this very successful company is capable of seeing how truly
incompetent she is. All of which means that Jerry and Elaine probably haven't changed as much in
three years as the business and TV worlds have.

I have always found Kramer to be a weirdly believable, caffeine-propelled coat rack of a man with
his own life -- filled with social engagements, odd jobs, and nutty moneymaking schemes. Although
he's the show's only character with "outside" friends, he still finds time to stop by Jerry's place for the
screaming. Nothing much has changed for Kramer, either, thank God.

But George Costanza? I still can't believe George Costanza, the biggest putz since Custer. I can
acknowledge that someone like him might exist, but that he should be allowed to survive -- in New
York City, of all places. The man loves to ruin lives. If he wants something, George will gladly lie,
cheat, and steal. After my ill-fated prediction, George became engaged but lucked out when his
bride-to-be dropped dead before the wedding. He also landed a job with George Steinbrenner, owner
of the New York Yankees and the only man in the world more self-serving than Costanza.
Seinfeld's writers would have us believe that the Yankees won the World Series with George
Costanza, a living voodoo curse, working in their front office. Now that is a real leap of faith.

Larry David and Jerry Seinfeld have always said that their show "is about nothing." Many rabid fans
assume this means they sorta make things up as they go. Not with this show's budget, they don't. In
truth, a Seinfeld script is a carefully crafted bundle of sketches that somehow manage to dovetail in
the end. Is now; always has been. Although the actors have slowed down a bit, their dialogue is
written to be delivered at a machine-gun pace, causing some scripts to run as long as 75 pages. The
sit-com norm is fewer than 50.

Theme also continues to be absent from Seinfeld. In other words, no one ever achieves or learns
anything. But isn't that really a theme in itself? This screaming group of co-dependents are locked
forever in a punishing dance with themselves, unable or unwilling to break free. Unlike the cute
narcissists on Friends, they ask for no adoration, just laughter. Being a product of the '90s, not the
'60s, like Norman Lear's classics, Seinfeld neither offers nor seeks anything approaching insight.
Perhaps this is the show's true secret for maintaining an audience: it's easy to laugh at people who
couldn't possibly be us. And if they never change or grow, so be it.

Am I bothered by the long-term success of a show I once called "just shtick?" Naw, I'm happy that
anything original gets past a network's programming people. But it does trouble me when these same
suits try to mass-produce something that once was unique. The channels are now filled with
Seinfeld-like sit-coms -- sorry shows peopled with self-centered, often cruel characters. So we have
to forgive John Lithgow and his band of aliens on 3rd Rock from the Sun for being well-meaning
and innocent. After all, they're new to our system and don't know how things work here.

Me? Well, I have come to accept that Seinfeld will run at least until 2010, and so I now offer what
will absolutely, positively be the last scene of its final episode:

Interior of a funeral home. Evening. A balding Jerry and a graying Elaine stand over a very
flat coffin. They are joined by Kramer, who looks the same as ever. An attendant grimly waits
in the background.

Kramer: I came as soon as I heard. How'd it happen?

Jerry: Trampled to death by 1700 pairs of Nikes. He wanted to get across town, so he tried to hold
up the Marathon with a bomb scare.

Elaine: Poor George.

Jerry: Poor George?? Poor me! His last words were, "Let Jerry handle the funeral. He's got
money."

Kramer: What about his folks?

Jerry: Bermuda. Seems they had his worthless life insured for a bundle.

Elaine: Figures. So, where you gonna bury him? Calvary out in Queens?

Jerry: More local.

Kramer: Trinity, downtown?

Jerry (shaking his head): Uh-uh . . . the Zoo. I'm gonna slip him under the door to the gorilla cage.

(He begins to fill out a label against the coffin.)

Kramer: I thought George always wanted a big sendoff, or maybe to be scattered in Central Park.

(Jerry calmly licks the back of the label and sticks it on the coffin.)

Jerry: I figure the monkey'll take care of both.

(They cross to the exit, passing the attendant.)

Jerry (to attendant): UPS will pick that up in the morning.

Fade out.