Jumping the Shark - An Investigation

I can remember being a young lad and watching "Happy Days" on television and thinking, "I hope this show never ends..." It made for wonderful viewing for a twelve year-old boy, and its storylines hearkened back to a simpler time (in 1972, we considered the fifties and early sixties as a "simpler, much cooler" time, what with Elvis Presley and The Beatles and all). We were familiar with Ron Howard from his days as Opie on "The Andy Griffith Show" and the character of Richie Cunningham gave us an idea what Opie would have been like had we seen him continue to age. I always thought that he had traded down when he gave up Andy Griffith as a father and picked up Tom Bosley, but I blame that on his agent. We got to know Richie's goofy, hormonal friends Potsie and Ralph Malph, whose only thoughts were of making out and hanging out with buds, much like the twelve year-old boy sitting Indian-legged on the living room floor in front of the television.

Then there was Fonzie. Uber-cool, Arthur Fonzarelli was the good-hearted, motorcycle-riding hoodlum who watched over the Land of Happy Days, dispensing advise on love, life and the art of cool. Fonzie was viewed by the kids at Arnold's Drive-In hamburger shop as a rebel - although he began the series wearing a white windbreaker, as per ABC's strict control over chicanery. Soon enough, his trademark leather jacket and feathered ducktail were in full rebellious display. Fonzie could turn on the jukebox with a well-placed cuff to the side of the machine. Fonzie never sweated the ladies - he snapped his fingers and they came a-running. Yep, Fonzie was cool - Richie, Potsie and Ralph knew it and so did we. So did the Cunninghams and there was always an undercurrent of sexual tension between the Fonz and Richie's mom, Marion. Kind of twisted if you think about it, but if you were married to Tom Bosley instead of Andy Griffith and had to listen to that little freckled harpy Joannie, you'd jump at the chance to jump on the Fonz-Arelli, too.

Yep, I never wanted the show to end.

Somewhere along the line, something changed. Perhaps the change was so subtle that we viewers could not register it. Suddenly, several seasons into the show's run, I found that I cared little whether I was home to watch or not. Maybe girls and music and life and shenanigans got in the way - I was simply getting older. Or perhaps it was something more base than my gentle slide into adolescence - it was possible that the show began to suck.

Fonzie and boys began to wear hairstyles more appropriate for the mid-seventies than the early sixties. Potsie began to sing on the show. Richie left. The show was taped before an audience rather than filmed by a single camera. The studio audience began to shriek every time the now nearly-superhuman Fonzie entered the scene. Fonzie's cousin Chachi, with his full head of seventies-feathered-blown-dry hair came aboard. Everyone knows what happens when TV shows introduce new characters - see the obnoxious little cousins brought aboard "The Brady Bunch", "The Cosby Show" and "The Partridge Family" - and apparently Chachi was created to romance little Joanie Cunningham, which was disgusting enough. What made matters worse is that they were bequeathed a spin off of the show called "Joannie Loves Chachi". Ugggghhhhh...

At the beginning of season five, in some ridiculous storyline that would strain even the most hearty of the "Suspension of Disbelief-ers", it was finagled that Fonzie would water-ski jump (wearing his leather jacket) over a contained man-eating shark. What??? Decades later, this was pinpointed as the moment when the show had nothing compelling left to offer. Henceforth, the term "jumping the shark" has been used to convey the episode that a television show went into its death-march to cancellation.

Hearken the Death-Knell

 

Some tell-tale signs that a show has jumped the shark:

• "A Very Special..." - just turn the set off. When Blossom, the Keatons or Ingalls find the opportunity to have a very special anything, it is time to pull the plug. Seriously, if I want to have a family moment examining teen-pregnancy, drug-abuse or the menses, I will watch the Kardashians.
• The re-casting of a main character. The only reason that the Partridge Family survived the replacement of the bug-eyed, dark haired drumming munchkin Chris Partridge with the tow-headed, squinty, Michael J. Pollard-looking drumming munchkin Chris Partridge is that everyone had their head up their ass in David Cassidy-envy and didn't notice - otherwise the show wouldn't have lasted the season. Check Becky Connor on "Rosanne" or Darren Stevens on "Bewitched"... Jump the Shark moment - you make the call.
• Adding Ted McGinley to your cast. Know as the Patron Saint of Shark-Jumping, McGinley take the demise of the already-jumped "Happy Days", "Married With Children" and "The Love Boat" to his shark-jumping grave with him. He is a bane and when he shows up on the set for his first day of shooting, young cast members have been known to burst into tears.

 

"Good luck" is right... Sayonara.

 

 

I suppose strong cases could be made for "Replacing Characters" ("M*A*S*H", "Two And A Half Men", "Cheers", etc.), "Special Guest Star Episodes" and "Introducing a young munchkin cousin who looks like John Denver" (See Cousin Oliver on "The Brady Bunch") as being strong indicators as well. All I know is that television producers, much like aging athletes, often do not know when to call it quits. I say there should be a committee (I would be delighted and honored to be a member) that keeps an eye on this. When I am King, this committee shall be formed and maintained rigorously. It will be well-paid and beyond reproach and their say will be final. No more Ted McGinley Mishaps and no more icons water skiing in leather jackets. And any scripts submitted introducing a new, precocious mop-topped cousin (with round, wire-framed glasses or not), will be incinerated, along with its writer. We need to get back to a purer, entertaining television and this would be a good start.

 

I submit that television itself jumped the shark the day a camera was allowed in the back seat of a police car for the pilot episode of "COPS". When the lid came off the reality TV bottle, there was simply no turning back. Cheaper to film and extremely popular with the ridiculously huge audience of  retarded lemmings who watch, reality television has beckoned the medium itself to begin its walk down the green-screen mile.  Television will survive without a doubt, but it will never be the same. Some are of the mind that this is okay. A plague on their houses, I say.

 

Vote Jerry Ford for King in the upcoming election. Take two pencils.









Elin Nordegren - The New Elvis

Tiger Woods' ex-wife has managed to make Elvis Presley look like a milquetoast - and with Elvis's penchant for destruction, that takes some serious effort.

Presley was legendary for shooting out television sets. These were the old-school, two-hundred pound console-numbers with picture tubes the size of a Mercury Space Capsule. Elvis once shot a TV for having the audacity of airing a show that featured Robert Goulet singing. "I hate that son of a bitch," Elvis told his posse, who I assume then proceeded to hate Goulet as well. I can only imagine what Elvis would do to these huge, HD, seventy-two inch flatscreens we have nowadays. Of course, I imagine Elvis would have been diligent in upgrading his weaponry to keep up with the televisions. He would no-doubt be blowing these massive, flatscreen beauties off his rumpus-room wall and to the fiery gates of hell with a G36-K.

G36-K - Nice looking weapon, huh? Elvis would have probably loved it for destroying televisions.

Presley once bought a house to burn down. While the house was on fire, he and one of his minions hopped up on a couple of bulldozers and plowed the burning building to the ground. At one point, Elvis pushed his lacky's smaller bulldozer into the flames for fun. I'm sure he bought the man a Cadillac after the incident. Elvis was the King of Destruction as well as the King of Rock and Roll. It was a true gift.

These efforts are little more than mischievous pranks compared to the one-woman wrecking crew that is Elin Nordegren. Over the past year or so, she has gone from maintaining an image of the squeaky-clean, mother-of-two, supportive wife of Tiger Woods, arguably one of the most recognizable, rich, successful and winning celebrity athletes on the planet, to the strong, self-confident, beautiful ex-wife of Tiger Woods whose only wish was to take her 16 bazillion-dollar divorce settlement and quietly go off to raise her kids and live in luxurious privacy for the rest of her brilliant, strong, self-confident life.

Elin Nordegren - brilliant, strong, self-confident.

There were underpinnings of destruction just under the surface of those clear blue Swedish eyes. The first hint of her willingness to free the beast came a year ago this past Thanksgiving, when rumor has it, she chased her husband down the driveway and beat his ass and his Escalade's ass with a golf club after learning of his marital indiscretions. A very nice start. It was but a cleaning of her brilliant, strong, self-confident palate.

Apparently, once the taste for violent destruction rears its ugly head, it is a powerful master. Elin recently purchased a twelve-million dollar, 9000 sq.ft., 6-bedroom, 8-bath masnion in North Palm Beach , Florida. And promptly had it razed. Huzzah! A masterful, world-class example of the frittering away of seven-figure mad-money that no doubt left her ex-husband a little teary-eyed, contemplating all the private jets, luxury hotel rooms, hookers, porn stars and cocktail waitresses twelve-million dollars could supply.

When I first saw this story, I assumed it was the house the two had shared when they were married, in which case, I wholeheartedly agreed with its destruction. Burn the bastard! I thought to myself - and more power to you! But apparently this is not the case. She simply decided that the current mansion simply didn't pass muster, so she had it destroyed, immediately passing Elvis and approaching Howard Hughes on the "useless waste of disposable income" ladder.

Of course, this scenario would be much more impressive if Elin herself was manning one of the dozers, 9-iron in hand, directing the proceedings like an orchestra conductor, or General Patton. Delegation of the project takes away a couple of points for hands-on destruction, but then again, it is one of the hallmarks of strong management.

There may be a career in mass-destruction for Miss Nordegren, if she ever desires to venture forth from the Shangri-La she is certain to construct on the site of her twelve-million dollar "Ground Zero" - or she could probably manage a mass-destruction team from behind its golden walls. I look forward to seeing how it all shakes out, but the grandeur of the thing makes me wistful for a simpler time - a time of handguns and picture tubes and bulldozers and fire. Old-school rolling up of the sleeves and dirtying one's hands. Sometimes I just miss Elvis's way of getting things done...

Update: (From Yahoo News) "It turns out that there was a pretty good reason for razing the estate: termites. A report in People magazine indicated that the 1920s-era mansion fell short of current hurricane safety codes, and combined with a termite infestation, that was enough to warrant blasting it down to the sand."
The update was released just before this blog's publication.

Well, it looks like Elvis is still the King.