The Lowbrow Reader Reader: Addenda and Annotations—Chevy Chase

One of the more prescient features of The Lowbrow Reader Reader, our eminently orderable book anthology, is a two-part piece debating the respective merits and deficiencies of Chevy Chase. In the book, Ben Goldberg argues against the comedian, while Joe O’Brien defends the oft-maligned star—a Lincoln-Douglas debate for the modern age. The chapters initially appeared in Lowbrow Reader #5, back in 2006, well before the actor’s resurgence on Community. All of which prompts the question: Have Chevy Chase’s recent activities done anything to change the two writers’ minds? Let’s find out!—Ed

Ben Goldberg: I like to see myself as not being an angry guy. Don’t we all? I fully embrace aging and the sense of wisdom that comes from it, and how one realizes the ephemeral nature of most feelings. And yet, in the years since I wrote this piece on why I dislike Chevy Chase, my disgust at his existence has only gone from rubber to cement, forming a hardened ball of trigger-hate at anything he does.

And it has not been easy. The past decade has seen to completion the Chase Comeback. It started with a revisionist article in Entertainment Weekly, continued with increasing appearances on Saturday Night Live (as that show has become “In Praise Of Lorne” in every sense but name), and coalesced in the cosmos with Community, everyone acting like he is not a talentless jerk.

I am convinced that the only reason this has happened is nostalgia. We love to love what we loved when we were 11, and nobody is going to taint the purity of that youthful joy. Hence, Chase surfs a misty-eyed wave of bullshit as a pathetic attempt at self-justification. You hear people all the time quoting lines from Chevy Chase movies, but do they ever say his lines? What situation fits a comment by the egotistical buffoon character he drilled into the gravel?

Prince can be an ass; I still love his music. Russell Crowe can throw whatever he wants at anyone; I still respect his acting. Chevy Chase is a bloated vessel of emptiness, standing on wisps of memory to see himself as taller than others.

Great. Now I’m all worked up.

Joe O’Brien: Do I still like Chevy?

In my pro-Chevy piece for the Lowbrow Reader back in 2006, I predicted that Chevy would make a comeback once he channeled his inner bastard and put it on the screen. It pretty much came true with his role as moist towelette entrepreneur Pierce Hawthorne on Community. Chevy was back. On primetime TV, dammit.

Naturally he blew it, feuding with the show’s creator, alienating the cast and slinging racial slurs on set. But still, as a lifelong Chevy fan, I felt some vindication.

A few years ago, through a generous friend, an opportunity came up for me to spend a day on the set of Community. I jumped at it, obviously, because I am a star struck rube. I wanted to get my picture taken with Chevy, and maybe coax a Fletch quote out of him.

I met my friend on the Paramount lot and we wandered the fake grounds of the Greendale Community College campus. The crew was setting up some elaborate stunt scene, so we were able to sit and talk with Joel McHale and Ken Jeong for a while. They were both very nice and funny; my friend asked Joel if Chevy was around, because I really wanted a picture with him.

I was a little embarrassed—and doubly so when Joel stared at me, completely stone-faced, and said, “Why?”

Ken then turned to Joel, real sarcastic, and said, “What do you mean ‘why,’ Joel? Don’t you know Chevy invented comedy?”

For the next half hour, I was given a blow-by-blow of the rigors of working with Chevy. The highlight was a description of how Chevy would walk around the set making off-color remarks and the writers would follow him around taking notes. The writers would then put some version of what Chevy said in the next script. Chevy would read it and complain, “That’s awful, I’m not saying that.” Then they’d tell him that he had said it at lunch the previous week and he’d say, “It’s brilliant. Leave it in!”

It was a fun day. Fans of Community probably remember the paintball episode. I was there right after they shot it, so the set was covered with paintball splatters. Unfortunately, it was Chevy’s day off. I saw his lonely trailer plunked on the lot, and even that exuded a kind of sourness after all the stories I had heard. I left the set figuring I had missed my one chance to see Chevy in the puffy flesh.

Cut to a year later into my Los Angeles decline. I was working as a caterer. During awards season, I would work all these high-profile parties and feel like a lowly insect serving drinks and food to the famous.

I was working a big Emmy party, which was unsettling. The casts for all the big shows would arrive together in the same giant limos. So all at once, here comes the whole cast of Breaking Bad, Mad Men, etc…. Then they would splinter off and overlap into some weird alternate TV universe where Don Draper is having a drink with Walter White and there are enough stray cast members of Lost lingering around to make things creepy.

The cast of Community arrived and I decided against saying hello to Joel McHale, since I figured he probably wouldn’t remember me. Or, even worse, he would and I would be embarrassed. Then, while all the people from the TV shows were drinking and having fun, I spotted Chevy off by himself, sitting on a couch way in the back, just kind of staring into space. I thought it was appropriate and sad and I walked by a couple of times. He showed no interest in the tray of tuna cones or salmon flatbread or whatever I was hawking. Then I saw his wife come over with two small plates full of little appetizers; he looked really happy, smiled and was really affectionate to her. They stayed off to themselves away from the party sharing their food. It was kind of sweet. He seemed harmless—the kind of guy who calls you an “egg timer” as an insult (which Chevy is known to do).

Anyway, I guess this is a long, meandering way of saying: Yeah, I still like the old bastard.