Tracy Morgan joins Cousin Sal and Bill Simmons to describe his alter ego, Chico Divine, and what he can remember from the time he was naked in Jimmy Kimmel’s green room. He also chats about the time he was kicked out of Prince’s house, his Saturday Night Live audition, and his favorite memory from 30 Rock. Plus! His new TV project and much, much more.
Here is a crowd-sourced Dunder Mifflin ad that will air during the Super Bowl in Scranton, and only in Scranton.
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The cult of TV brilliance, like a runner on third with less than two outs, demands sacrifice. What unites classic, obsessed-over shows like Freaks and Geeks, Undeclared, and Arrested Development isn't just their sparkling dialogue; it's their martyrdom. All three were shows that had plenty of time to be great but not nearly enough to disappoint. The unrealized promise of all the jokes and seasons we, as fans, were denied helps prop up the legend and maintain the purity of the sect. It's not enough to love the episodes we did get; one must also burn with resentment for all the ones we were denied. Like James Dean, Kurt Cobain, or Four Loko, the most fiercely beloved TV shows tend to be the ones that died too soon.
But not 30 Rock. Despite ticking all the boxes for early cancellation — too smart, too funny, too New York (at least it wasn't burdened with Justin Bartha) — 30 Rock is the rare cult show that survived. No — it thrived. For seven seasons it churned out brilliant jokes with the efficacy and precision of a finely calibrated fart machine. It invented holidays and catchphrases. It tangled bravely with race and ludicrously with celebrity. Snakes were tamed and sharks were loosed. Ghostface Killah rapped about muffins. Muppets sang at a funeral. At its worst it was good. At its best it was transcendent. It's not enough to say that 30 Rock didn't die. Its whole life was thunder.
In this golden age of television, there sometimes enters a character who shifts all former expectations; a small-screen presence who shines through the flimsy edifice we call a human body to reveal the truth: that we are just wriggling brain stems driven by our insane lusts. Television has long been supplanting the novel as the medium we turn to for long-form narrative investigations into public personas and true selves, and among its gallery of modern antiheroes, one complex yet subtle figure stands alone: Jenna Maroney. Jenna (pronounced Jenn-ahh) was 30 Rock's secret weapon in a show stocked with them. Jane Krakowski, formerly known best for playing ditzy Elaine on Ally McBeal, summoned everything from her lifetime walking the boards for her portrayal of Jenna: the ultimate actress.
Omar Sy and Bradley Cooper are in talks to appear in The Weinstein Company’s comedy Chef. Cooper previously starred in Fox’s Kitchen Confidential, but you probably don’t remember that.
30 Rock and The Office are both ending this season, the former in just six days, the latter in four months. As a result, NBC's once-proud Thursday-night comedy lineup has shifted from triage to hospice care. A sense of finality looms large over all four of the current shows. My sense is that Parks and Recreation is still likely to get a final half-season or so to wrap things up — it's owned by NBC/Universal and an extra 13 or so would goose the total closer to a syndication-friendly 100 — but it feels like showrunner Mike Schur isn't taking any chances. Last week's bachelor party episode crammed in cameos from two Indianapolis Colts, the team owner, and a former Speaker of the House, all while planning for the biggest wedding Pawnee's seen since the first Malwae married the widow Tweep. It may not be the end, but, like Ron Swanson at a pricey steakhouse, Parks isn't leaving anything on the table. As for the wretched 1600 Penn? Well, everything about that overbaked butterball feels downright apocalyptic to me.
Every week in this space, Grantland’s Andy Greenwald will run down the happenings and mishappenings in NBC’s Thursday comedy night done mostly right. (Note: The order reflects newsworthiness, not quality. Although occasionally the two just might overlap.)
The normal metric for holiday behavior is, as Jim Halpert correctly argued last night, naughty or nice. But in terms of sitcoms, Dwight's Teutonic table might work even better: Do we prefer our comedies to be impish or admirable? Particularly at this time of year, when the tendency to sweeten the eggnog — or at least avoid the fat-free kind — can be overwhelming. For Parks and Rec, this balance isn't limited to December: The only time this most likable of shows stumbles is when its characters end up liking each other so much it muffles the conflict in a miasma of nondenominational good cheer. So it was particularly rewarding to discover that the excellent "Ron and Diane," as written by Aisha Muharrar and Megan Amram, celebrated Krampus far more than jolly old St. Nick.
"I'm just the underdog who finally got the girl"
— One Direction
After seven years, several serious-ish boyfriends, and countless offscreen episodes of TGS, Liz Lemon is a married woman. Last week's 30 Rock saw Liz making it legal with handsome slacker boyfriend Criss Chros (James Marsden). Liz eschewed her original plan to elope in sweats at City Hall in favor of a more formal event, replete with Tony Bennett and a Princess Leia bridal gown. You'll have to forgive me for replicating the famous Lemon eye-roll when I learned that Liz had secret white-wedding fantasies concealed under all her anti-romance bluster. It was somewhat trying to watch Liz realize that her tireless hatred of the culturally enforced marriage-industrial complex was a defensive reaction to her true heart's deepest wish, which just happened to be a ceremony like the ones on Bravo's Wedding Bitches. I found myself rooting for witness Dennis Duffy (Dean Winters) to pound on some glass and break up the wedding, The Graduate–style.
Every week in this space, Grantland’s Andy Greenwald will run down the happenings and mishappenings in NBC’s Thursday comedy night done mostly right. (Note: The order reflects newsworthiness, not quality. Although occasionally the two just might overlap.)
In the end, it seems, Liz Lemon really could have it all. The respectful relationship, the professional success, the wind-battered face of a New England cod fisherman. Proving herself, society, and Anne-Marie Slaughter wrong, last night Liz married Criss Chros, her marzipan candy man. The ceremony, held at midday in City Hall, was a typically Liz affair: Dennis Duffy brown-bagging (and black-sonning) it in the corner, a tuxedoed Jack Donaghy reading Ayn Rand, Tony Bennett. It was the lovely capper to a remarkably warm and generous episode of 30 Rock, a sitcom that usually follows its cartoony muse down some prickly rabbit holes, but last night showed real heart. (The only echo of that Seinfeldian fealty to the joke above all else was with poor Shanice: Not only would Criss not sit on her hand, she'll spend the rest of her life unmarried, working in the chapel.) "Mazel Tov, Dummies," written by Tracey Wigfield, but with Tina Fey's Pringles-stained fingerprints all over it, was a celebration of idiosyncrasy all around. From Tracy's embrace of recklessness to Jack and Jenna's grappling with their true value, the episode suggested that happiness is always possible. It just depends on whose rules you're playing by.
Scarlett Johansson Is Depressed: "She was totally out of control in Moscow recently" at a champagne brand's promo event. "She was drinking nonstop and barely slept. It was obvious that she was trying to numb her feelings." She's sad about her breakup with ad exec Nate Naylor. "She's not used to going home alone — it's a shock to her system. The fact that Ryan Reynolds is happily married while she's single again has done a number on her. And the drinking is taking its toll — she's been crying because she feels so fat." She got a lucky horseshoe tattooed on her ribcage "because she's feeling a bit unlucky." A rebound with ex-boyfriend Jared Leto quickly went south. "She thought a fling with Jared would make her feel better, but since it was only a hookup, it only made things worse." Time for Lost in Translation 2? I know I'd pay good money to watch Scarlett be sad in Russia.
Every week in this space, Grantland’s Andy Greenwald will run down the happenings and mishappenings in NBC’s Thursday comedy night done mostly right. (Note: The order reflects newsworthiness, not quality. Although occasionally the two just might overlap.)
Editor's note: Happy Halloween, everybody!
Every week in this space, Grantland’s Andy Greenwald will run down the happenings and mishappenings in NBC’s Thursday comedy night done mostly right. (Note: The order reflects newsworthiness, not quality. Although occasionally the two just might overlap.)
Last week, I led this piece by suggesting that “all great comedies are at least a little bit serious.” Now, I’d like to take it one step further: Sometimes the best parts of comedies are the moments that aren’t funny at all. The trend in modern sitcoms is to speed everything up: more jokes, more references, less time to catch your breath. But the old-fashioned Parks has always appreciated the value of the slow build, the pause, the very human need to inhale oxygen before LOL-ing it out with glee. As Claude Debussy — himself a huge fan of Cheers — once put it: “Music is the space between the notes.”
Every week in this space, Grantland’s Andy Greenwald will run down the happenings and mishappenings in NBC’s Thursday comedy night done mostly right. (Note: The order reflects newsworthiness, not quality. Although occasionally the two just might overlap.)
All truly great comedies are at least a little bit serious. It’s a delicate, delightful balance to mix purely goofy laughs with those that resonate on a deeper, Homer Simpson–y level. In the past few years, as 30 Rock has pushed its jokes-per-minute ratio to nearly unheard-of proportions — in our recent podcast, former staffer Kay Cannon talked about how her job went from two jokes per page to a joke every line — it’s been easier to overlook the sharp satire lurking behind all the silliness. But the archly brilliant, Tina Fey–scripted “Stride of Pride” proved that, just like Jenna doing Kegels and thinking, it’s more than possible to do two challenging things at the same damn time — and look awfully good in the process.
Every week in this space, Grantland’s Andy Greenwald will run down the happenings and mishappenings in NBC’s Thursday comedy night done mostly right. (Note: The order reflects newsworthiness, not quality. Although occasionally the two just might overlap.)
If the mere sight of a spreadsheet can open Liz Lemon’s boneyard to any and all approaching dump-truck traffic, imagine what the whiteboard in the writers' room for last night’s episode of 30 Rock could accomplish. “Governor Dunston,” written and directed by co-showrunner Robert Carlock, flooded the zone like the American heroes of BP, packing nearly as much story into its 22 minutes as jokes. What resulted was a choppy, overstuffed–like–Bob Dunston–at–a–BBQ half hour. The humor was as pedigreed as the guest stars. But it would take a lot more than Criss and Liz’s sex paper clips to hang it all together.
