I had this when I was a kid. Seemed fitting to look it up with Halloween approaching, since it’s basically a monster story.
Eventually my 45 rpm record got a scratch on it just past the 8-minute mark, and Spidey would say, “Gotta get out of here fast- Gotta get out of here fast- Gotta get out of here fast…”
I was also strangely disturbed and fascinated by the – SPOILER ALERT – panel depicting the villain’s transformation (10:35), particularly his yellow-and-green-faced phase.
Hey future-dwellers: Crossing Decembers is available as a $4.99 eBook through the iTunes Bookstore, so if you’ve read any or all of it online and enjoyed it, why not pick up a digital edition you can keep for your very own?
(The paperback edition is, of course, still available through Amazon.)
John Scalzi’s blog post from Tübingen, which touches on the European intersection of the very, very old with the almost-tomorrow new, reminded me of these pictures I took of a house in Ratzeburg, Germany a couple decades ago:
Note: I’m planning to write about seasons and story arcs of The Wonder Years as I revisit the series in its entirety via Netflix streaming. Earlier, I wrote about my personal history and memories of The Wonder Years during its original broadcast run. This blog entry takes at look at the six episodes which comprise Season One. Expect spoilers ahead – if one can be said to “spoil” a show that aired its last original episode more than 17 years ago. I’m also assuming readers are familiar with the main characters of Kevin Arnold, Winnie Cooper, and Paul Pfeiffer, and Kevin’s family, Jack and Norma (mom and dad), Wayne and Karen.
After waiting for so long to see The Wonder Years available for home viewing, I was thrilled to finally queue up the pilot episode on Netflix.
I was also a little wary of how much the original music used in the show would be changed. After all, securing the rights to use the catalog of songs from the TV broadcasts has long been understood as a major reason for The Wonder Years not being available on the home video market. So when the theme song began, and it wasn’t the show’s original Joe Cocker version of “A Little Help from My Friends,” I got a little spooked. (It’s a version clearly recorded to emulate the Cocker version though. According to Wikipedia, this version of the song was played when The Wonder Years originally aired in the U.K.)
Past that, though, the pilot strikes all the same chords it did when it first aired, the voice-overs of Narrator Kevin introducing us to his neightborhood and his family and his friends just prior to the beginning of his seventh grade year at Robert F. Kennedy Junior High. While there’s definitely a not-quite-settled-in feeling to some of the characters and writing, I still don’t think any other show has hit so squarely the tone and feel of a time and place seen through a 12-year-old’s eyes.
Kevin’s father, Jack Arnold, in particular seems a much darker character in these early episodes, brooding with his after-work drinks and prone to loud and angry outbursts that go beyond the usual TV realm of gruff-but-well-meaning dad role. (In a moment that still makes me a little uncomfortable, Narrator Kevin says his father had never struck him, “but he’d given Wayne a beating. Twice.” The revelation is key, given what happens a few moments later, but the show never really goes down that road again.
The pilot story centers on the start of the school year, typical family conflicts (rebellious older sister; butthead older brother), and adolescent friendships and relationships. Where The Wonder Years really defines itself, though, is in the pilot’s final third. To this point, it’s been heartfelt and genuine and funny and just sad enough in a very identifiable way.
And then Brian Cooper dies.
Winnie’s older brother only appears in three episodes of the entire show, and two of those are the pilot and its immediate follow-up. It’s taken me years to realize just how much the impact of that character’s death in Vietnam shapes several significant events over the course of the series.
Having screwed up royally and gotten in major trouble at school, Kevin rides home with his parents anticipating a severe punishment at the hands of his father. The three of them are met on the front porch by Kevin’s older brother and sister, who break the news about Brian’s death. It’s one of the series’ defining moments, bringing a real weight to the show, and setting up the iconic final moments, when Kevin and Winnie share their first kiss as he comforts her in the woods where they used to play. (MAJOR sigh of relief upon watching this one: Percy Sledge’s “When A Man Loves A Woman” still accompanies this scene. In my mind, this song is as inextricably tied to the scene as Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes” is to John Cusack holding up a boom box. Maybe even more so.)
Episode two, “Swingers,” picks up immediately following the events of the pilot, opening at Brian Cooper’s funeral. (1980s pop culture afficionados, take note: The priest at the ceremony is David Lightman’s father – “This corn is raw!” – from WarGames.) Again, I’m incredibly relieved to hear Buffalo Springfield’s “For What It’s Worth” – you know, the “There’s something happening here…” song – playing on the soundtrack.
“Swingers” does a fantastic job of balancing the Cooper family’s with Kevin’s confusion in the wake of his kiss with Winnie, interwoven with the onset of junior-high sex education. Classic moment: Kevin’s gym teacher/sex ed instructor draws a diagram of the female reproductive system.
“Suddenly it became very clear why Mr. Cutlip had never been married,” Narrator Kevin recalls. “Any man who saw women that way would have no reason to.”
(This scene cracked my daughter up.)
And “Swingers” just moves from one great scene to another: There’s Kevin and Paul’s quest to buy a copy of “Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex (But Were Afraid to Ask),” Wayne’s know-it-all doofus advice, and the post-first-kiss unease that casts Kevin and Winnie’s friendship in a new light.
Episodes three and four – “My Father’s Office” and “Angel,” respectively – establish the series’ approach to stand-alone stories that focus more on the Arnold family than the ongoing junior-high struggles. They also begin to round out a few of these relationships and characters, again setting things up for echoes and recurring themes down the road.
“My Father’s Office” looks at Kevin’s relationship with his dad, whom he accompanies to work for a day. Jack Arnold gets some depth to work with, and there’s a funny fantasy sequence in which Kevin imagines himself as an office boss, with his siblings as his subordinates.
“Angel” – which marks the first major role for actor John Corbett, who later starred on Northern Exposure – is built around on the Vietnam War and the household conflict beween hippie Karen, her new boyfriend Louis (Corbett) and the Arnold parents, particularly Jack. It does a nice job of positioning Louis as both a pompous ass and a guy who’s genuinely scared and upset by what’s going on around him. (Of course, he is totally a dick because he’s a little too Free with the Love for Karen.)
The penultimate episode of season one, “The Phone Call,” introduces Kevin’s first post-Winnie-kiss crush: Lisa Berlini. Junior high society is in full play, with a lunchroom pass-it-on scene and Kevin wrestling with the dilemma of actually calling a girl on the phone. And while it’s a fine episode, it’s really best viewed as a lead-in to the season finale, “Dance With Me,” which has always been one of my all-time favorites. (Other than the series-closer, it’s the only Wonder Years episode I videotaped long before I started trying to collect the whole run.) So let’s get to that one.
If you were to ask me to pick one episode that best captures everything I love about The Wonder Years, it would be “Dance With Me.” Not to say it’s my favorite ever, or that it’s the best written or most powerful, but for sheer representation of the things that really make the show what it is, “Dance With Me” is tough to beat. Watching it for the first time in a long while, it really struck me how much the writers packed into this 23 minutes of television.
Opening up the morning after “The Phone Call” – adult Kevin informs us that he and Lisa had spent “close to four complete minutes” talking with each other, and his feelings have clearly deepened over this amazing experience.
So, in the wake of a homeroom announcement regarding an upcoming school dance, we get: awkward hallway conversation with Paul and Winnie in which Paul breaks out in itches and sneezes at the mention of a girl who likes him; Paul cluelessly mentioning Kevin’s crush on Lisa, which catches Winnie by surprise; lunchroom flirtation over burgers and fruit cocktail. This is Wonder Years Middle School at its borderline-cliché but fantastic best.
After passing Lisa a note asking her to the dance, Kevin gets that response every seventh-grade boy lives for: the “Okay” with a smiley face in the O. Five minutes later, of course, Lisa gets asked by some prick named Brad – Mark Paul Gosselaar! – face-to-face in the hallway. And she says yes. (Narrator Kevin’s priceless comment: “I had it in writing. Perhaps there was some sort of legal action I could take.”)
At home, Kevin mopes over an I Dream of Jeannie episode – fooooooreshadooooooow! – and then decides to go to the dance after all.
It’s during an Arnold-family music-and-dance montage that I noticed the first musical substitutions made for the newly-streaming episodes of the show. Where Jack and Norma used to dance to “The Girl from Ipanema” and Wayne goofed around to “Louie, Louie,” we hear different songs now. And though I recognized the switches immediately, they’re not game-changers. (Frankly, these are trades I’m OK with, as opposed to the practice of editing the episodes’ content, which happens from time to time in syndication.)
The episode finishes up at the dance itself and hits that perfect mix of nostalgia and melancholy and humor and reality, from Kevin and Paul resorting to trash can basketball with punch cups to Kevin’s heartache at watching Winnie with an eighth-grader to Kevin’s attempt at making her jealous by dancing with a girl he doesn’t even know. We’re treated to a brief, hilariously-imagined scene involving Winnie in the title I Dream of Jeannie role (including laugh track!), and then a classic episode-closing moment and voice over as Kevin and Winnie slow dance to the thankfully-still-part-of-the-soundtrack “I’ve Been Loving You Too Long” by Otis Redding.
Watching it again, I think that if the show hadn’t been picked up for full-season release, this would still have served as a great bookend to three hours of really, really good television.
Fortunately, there was more to come.
It’s hard for me to express exactly why or how much I have always loved The Wonder Years.
I was a junior in high school when I met Kevin Arnold and Winnie Cooper and their families and classmates in March of 1988, and I fell hard for the show from the very start. Maybe it was because at 17 and in the second half of my junior year of high school, I felt very much on that verge of change where childhood seemed both distant and still within reach. Maybe it was because I loved The Princess Bride, and here was a new show with that funny kid (Fred Savage) in it. Maybe it was the Christmas Story-esque character presence of the adult narrator, which gave the show its signature serving of self-aware humor and nostalgia.
Looking at it now, it’s almost kind of strange the way this show seemed to connect with so many people my age. On its surface, The Wonder Years is dead-aimed at the younger Baby Boomer audience: Kevin does his growing up in the late 1960s and early 1970s, and the music and cultural upheaval of the era are so much a part of the show that they practically play supporting character roles.
And yet I feel – and I always have – like The Wonder Years belongs definitively to my generation, bridging as it did those last few teenage years and our steps into the early 20s and adulthood. Somehow, this show, with its Joe Cocker cover of The Beatles’ “A Little Help from My Friends,” and its older-sister hippie and its backdrop of the Vietnam War and generations in conflict and NASA’s Apollo missions – managed to feel as real and relevant to me in the late 1980s as any TV program or movie set in then-current surroundings.
The Wonder Years just never felt like an era-dependent show to me – it felt much more tied to the emotions and pitfalls and joys and concrete-serious ridiculousness of growing up through junior high and high school. And there is some evidence that I’m not completely off-base in this perception: My high-school-aged daughter is enjoying the series now, and she says the whole middle-school-note-passing, hallway drama, “Please ask Girl A to find out if Girl B likes Boy C” and “Does she like you, or does she like you like you” scenarios remain very much a part of that social landscape.
The Wonder Years was the first TV show that I remember watching from the pilot to series finale. Through my senior year of high school, three-and-a-half years in college, and into that dark post-graduate period, that weekly half-hour was an escape and a ritual and a comfort. With the right friends, it was a collectively-shared joy – our freshman year at Bowling Green, it seemed like Adam and I were constantly scrambling to write down bits of dialogue or narration that hit home. And when life sucked, The Wonder Years gave me 30 minutes where it was easy to forget.
The Wonder Years last episode aired May 12, 1993 – the day my dad died. Aaron came over, and he and my brothers and I watched the series finale together. I still have the VHS tape of that broadcast.
It was in the mid 1990s, when Jenn and I lived in Orlando, that I first started trying to collect the entire series on tape. The local WB television affiliate aired The Wonder Years in syndication weekdays around lunchtime, and I began filling VHS cassettes and labeling them as I’d mentally bookmarked them over the years: “The Tomato Lady”, “Lisa Berlini”, “Winnie Sleeps Over.” The station stopped airing its reruns after I’d filled about three tapes.
After we’d moved here to Ohio, it showed up again in the mid 2000s, and I would set the DVR to record the show, then spend several hours each weekend dubbing the digital recordings onto still more tapes until I had 113 of the 115 episodes, charted on guides I’d printed from the internet, and given their proper titles.
Within the last couple years, I had begun transferring these onto DVDs, but it was a slow trial-and-error process, and I had managed to put less than a dozen episodes onto disc.
We have just one barely-functioning VCR remaining in our house now – you’re rolling the dice against the Tape-Eating Gnomes every time you insert a cassette – and I’ve been watching The Wonder Years from time to time on the Hub network, which recently added the show to its lineup.
But now that the entire series is available for streaming, as Vizzini told Inigo Montoya, it’s “Back to the beginning!” for me.
It will take some time to work through all one hundred fourteen episodes (there’s a clip show from the end of Season Four which isn’t included in the complete run, for some reason), but I’m looking forward to rewatching them with my daughter, and writing about them.
I’ll visit Season One in its entirety – it’s only six episodes long, and we’re already watching Season Two – in my next blog entry.
Update: Season One blog entry is here!
This is not Bloomfield, New Jersey.
Neither is it New York Comic Con.
Both are places Jenn and Kelsey and I were supposed to be visiting this weekend for a long-anticipated get-together with friends and a GeekDad panel at the convention.
We were supposed to leave this morning. Unfortunately, it turns out my car needs a new wheel bearing, and it needs it now. Frakafrakkingfrak.
This all came to light yesterday, and I was tremendously pissed off and mopey and sad. A couple hours of Wednesday’s regularly scheduled Dungeons & Dragons Encounters at Backlist Books helped, as did an unexpected but very welcome past-midnight phone call from my old friend Ivan, whose family we were going to stay with for the weekend.
I drove my car to the mechanic’s this morning. It’s only about a mile-and-a-quarter from our house, so I walked home. It was bright and mild, and because it rained yesterday, the air was full of fall: the smell of wet leaves in the sun, an occasional whiff of apples, acres of corn husks drying and the sound of leaves falling in the woods.
(It wasn’t all pretty: My walk also included two cross-the-road detours to avoid recently deceased possums.)
I reminded myself of what I’d told Ivan last night: I’m planning to make the most of the time off work. I have three writing projects I’d like to tackle, movies and TV shows I’d like to enjoy with a beer or two, a book to finish and another to start.
I’m still frustrated over the scuttled weekend plans, of course: I haven’t been able to attend a GeekDad panel since the first one at PAX East in 2009; my friend Kirk is signing his book at Comic Con; I was looking forward to catching up with Bonnie Burton; and we don’t see Ivan and his family nearly enough. Jenn and Kelsey are also missing a reunion with one of Jenn’s oldest friends and a belly dancing convention.
Big-picture-wise, though, it’s just an inconvenience, and there will be other conventions and other excellent times with friends.
This was a good walk home.
Fall is still my favorite season, but this weekend has been a real kick-to-the-heart kind of deal.
Setting the stage was the cold gray weather front which arrived Friday, seemingly in tandem with the woods all around us rounding that first color-changing corner and starting to shed their driest leaves in the wind.
Saturday, my daughter attended her first high school homecoming dance, which is joyous and heartbreaking and fun and sad, and then she came home with one of her friends and stayed up until 4 a.m. on a Doctor Who season-ending marathon, which is all kinds of awesome.
Sunday, Jenn & Kelsey & I drove to Columbus to attend the memorial service for our friend Elise, who died unexpectedly last week and was just 31 years old. We used to see her several times a year on our visits for the Dublin Irish Festival and for any-excuse-to-get-together-and-play-Rock-Band parties. She was a big-hearted, full-on rock-horn-throwing Star Wars fan video gaming life-enriching geek – and so much more, of course – and it sucks that she’s gone. You would have liked her.
We stopped a Steak ‘n Shake for dinner on the way home, where our server was a kind and cheerful grandmotherly type who was so friendly and warm that she managed to make us feel a little better.
Back on the interstate, darkness fell, and Jenn put Automatic for the People on the stereo.
As we drove east, I looked in the rearview mirror and saw, distantly, a deep orange band on the horizon, someplace where there were no clouds hiding the sunset.
My friend Kirk Demarais’ new book is coming out this month, and if you grew up marveling and wondering at comic book ads promising magical voice-throwing powers or an army in a footlocker … all will be revealed!
Mail-Order Mysteries: Real Stuff from Old Comic Book Ads! is a lot of fun (the exclamation point in the title practically guarantees it, right?), and as I mentioned in my GeekDad review, Kirk lets his love for all these bits of cheesy goodness shine through.
Kirk also took some time to answer email questions for a GeekDad interview, and demonstrates a couple of the novelties in this video on YouTube:
And when you have 15 minutes to spare, his short film Flip is another great tribute to this part of childhood: