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By PAUL BRENNER
Perhaps the essence of a
great stand-up comedian is the ability to meld
their real life comic tragedies into grist for
comic one-liners. Nearness to death, for example.
A recent example is Bob Hope, whose last words
were reported to be a response to his wife Dolores
as she tried to decide on a final resting place
for the legendary comic. "Where would you like to
be buried, Bob?" she asked. "I don't know.
Surprise me."
Rodney Dangerfield too had a final riposte to
death in 2004 as he announced at a hospital press
conference that he was entering the hospital for a
risky (and ultimately fatal) heart valve
operation: "If the operation goes bad I won't make
it through the night; if it all goes well I'll
last a couple of weeks."
Hope's remark was atypically self-reflexive;
Dangerfield's was pure Dangerfield, part and
parcel of his twitchy, nervous, and sweating comic
character. Dangerfield teetering on the brink was
always a part of his nightclub act, his real life
wisecrack an expression of his low-rent comedy
club shtick, Henny Youngman one-liners filtered
through the anger, despair, and angst of an
existential loser. Dangerfield's depressive
I-don't-get-no-respect spiel smacks the rotgut of
misery, as he barks out cracks like:
"I went to a bartender and said, "Make me a
zombie" and the bartender said, "God beat me to
it."
Or...
"My wife, she doesn't give me any respect. Just
last week the house was on fire and she told the
kids, "Quiet. Don't wake up Daddy."
Or...
"Doctor, I wake up in the morning, look in the
mirror and throw up. What's wrong with me?"
"I don't know but your eyesight is perfect."
In the early '80s, Rodney Dangerfield hit his
zenith as a comic's comic, bridging the old-style
Vegas comic lounge act with up-and-coming acts
that borrowed old time comic phrasing and melded
it with the crass, the vulgar, and the blue.
In the R2 Entertainment three-disc collection --
"Rodney Dangerfield -- No Respect: The Ultimate
Collection" -- Dangerfield television specials
(both network and cable) exhibit Dangerfield as a
comic P.T. Barnum, offering audiences of Yuppies
comics of all shapes and sizes, while Dangerfield
himself anoints the sets (frequently filmed at his
New York comedy club Dangerfield's) with segues
trading off his well known comic persona, which as
the years wear on becomes more and more puffed
out, cartoony, and desperate.
Disc One showcases Dangerfield's early '80s
network specials, the programs reflecting the by
then moribund form of the television variety show
-- i.e. moldy sketches, cheap comic stylings,
cheesey production numbers, and high voltage
singers. Starting off with "It's Not Easy Being
Me" from 1981 with a guest roster that includes
Bill Murray and Aretha Franklin, the pizzazz
grinds to a halt by 1984's "Exposed" which
showcases such apocalyptic entertainers as Dick
Butkis, Bubba Smith, and Morgan Fairchild.
But with the advent of cable, Dangerfield was
ready to jump ship and wade into the cesspool of
The Crass and The Blue. And in his cable specials,
Dangerfield is mostly relegated to a master of
ceremonies, for the most part introducing comics
who are even more nasty and vulgar than he is. The
programs -- "It's Not Easy Bein' Me" (1986),
"Nothin' Goes Right" (1987), "The Really Big Show"
(1991), and Disc Three's "Opening Night At
Rodney's Place" (1989) -- introduce the soon-to-be
comedians superstars (Jerry Seinfeld, Tim Allen,
Rosanne, Jeff Foxworthy), the legends and the blow
outs (Sam Kinison, Bill Hicks, Andrew Dice Clay),
and the small-timers (Bob Zany, Sid Younger,
Lennie Clark; the hilarious premise of "The Really
Big Show" is that Zany and Younger are too big to
want to appear on Dangerfield's television show).
The centerpiece of Disc Three (and the collection)
is a grainy videotape, recording a 50-minute live
performance by Dangerfield in Las Vegas in 1988.
Although Dangerfield appears to be suffering from
a cold and his voice frequently cracks,
Dangerfield's club routine is performed
unvarnished and complete instead of the sound bits
from his television specials. Here is seen the
true Dangerfield, not a cartoon and not a sleazy
bottom-feeder, but a comic who melds his low
self-esteem one-liners into an extended growl of
anger, resentment, and self-loathing. With
Dangerfield's comedy routine, the squalor of the
one-nighter nightclub life is merged with a DSM-IV
confessional. When Dangerfield speaks of a dark
cloud of heaviness that hangs over him so much
that he greets it with a friendly exclamation ("Hi
Heaviness!"), Dangerfield's desolation is our own,
and all we can do is tilt our heads back and laugh
at the oncoming darkness. |
