Michael Hayes (1997) s01e09 – Slaves

I wasn’t looking forward to this episode. “Michael Hayes” has been struggling the last couple and it was never on firm grounding to begin with. Then the opening title sequence hit and… the rest of the legal team actors’ names were in it. Episode nine is where Hillary Danner, Rebecca Rigg, and Peter Outerbridge get added as regulars. But then I saw the first guest star—Lucy Alexis Liu—and all of a sudden I remembered; I have one cogent memory of “Michael Hayes” and this episode was going to contain it. I remembered more along the way—Jodi Long’s so good and the scene’s such a “thank goodness” (she’s calling out white people’s savior complex in general, lead David Caruso as a specific example, while also addressing the efficacy of having biased white “experts” talking about the Chinese immigrant experience). It works out; my cogent memory is validated and the show is all of a sudden on completely different footing. Script credit to Anne Kenney and Paul Haggis.

The episode starts with Caruso addressing a bunch of cops about to raid a “house of prostitution.” Only, Caruso (and Kenney and Haggis) explain, it’s not a regular house of prostitution because the women are being held captive; they’re Chinese immigrants, in the country without visas—I’d forgotten how often the term “illegal aliens” got thrown around in mainstream media, even when there’s a whole thing about the system being inhumane and shitty—and they’re chained to the floor. 1997 is apparently before “human trafficking” entered Hollywood’s vernacular; it’s also back when you could have someone like Caruso say “America doesn’t do slavery” with a straight face.

The raid goes bad and Caruso and team are left with two potential witnesses—Liu and Jeanne Chinn—against a seemingly upstanding businessman suspect, Michael Paul Chan. Liu’s a good girl, Chinn’s a bad girl, but neither of them are receptive to Caruso’s questioning because he can’t keep them in the country. John Prosky shows up (again, I think) as a dipshit INS agent (it’s not his fault, it’s just the agency itself is shit is the message), with a chunk of the plot dedicated to Caruso and Outerbridge trying to figure out how to get him to grant refugee visas.

The procedural aspects, with Rigg and Ruben Santiago-Hudson (demoted in the credit order due to everyone but Caruso being alphabetical and three names getting added, but still a solid part) doing field work are good. Mostly thanks to the script, but also Adam Nimoy’s direction is the best the show’s had either ever or in memory. Also, Rigg’s a hoot out in the field, a self-aware brassy sitcom neighbor but as a meticulous lawyer; Rigg’s always working the character, even when she’s in background; the mind is racing. She’s awesome to watch, a great foil for Caruso, who’s doing the same thing.

But where the episode excels in the character arc for Caruso (and Liu). Without a lot of exposition setting it up—any exposition setting it up, actually—the episode essays Caruso’s emotional reaction to Liu and Chinn—Chinn’s a caricature for most of her time in the episode, but when that barrier cracks, it’s very much because of Caruso’s performance. It’s in the script and Chinn’s close to leveling up on her own, but Caruso—problematically, to be sure—is what makes it happen. “Michael Hayes” is about a white savior who just happens to be white. They wouldn’t be able to get away with any of it without Caruso, whose ability to toggle between loud and quiet is unsurpassed.

Except Chinn’s the bad girl who’s a (relatively) easy flip. There’s a lot more with Liu, as Caruso tries to crack her as a witness, then forms a bond with her. Unlike the Chinn stuff, Liu and Caruso’s arc succeeds because of Liu. Their scenes are all about the performances, because it’s all talk, sometimes about legal citizenship stuff, sometimes about aspirational Americana stuff, and the drama has to come out of the characters speaking to and reacting to one another. No wonder I remember loving this show.

No sign of other still regular cast members Mary B. Ward and Jimmy Galeota—I think they may have even taken Galeota’s picture out of Caruso’s office—and the show’s… better for it. Much better for it. Even with Danner not really having enough to do and Outerbridge still just being a blue blood stick in the mud, the team procedural dynamic succeeds.

I’m not sure what to expect from “Hayes” going forward and this episode might very well be its peak, but it’s a good peak. Even though it’s a CBS show by white people for white people from 1997, it ages all right. Kenney and Haggis are at least aware of that situation and try (well, not with the title but Haggis did end up making Crash, didn’t he). And Caruso and Liu are spectacular together, which is what matters. The episode is all theirs.

Frasier (1993) s04e20 – Daphne Hates Sherry

There’s some truly great stuff this episode—Kelsey Grammer directs and continues his extremely gentle look at the potential chemistry between David Hyde Pierce and Jane Leeves (he directed the previous Moon Dance episode, which was the first time the show really acknowledged the potential)—but there’s also some very messy stuff.

The messy stuff starts, with Marsha Mason moving in on Leeves’s space in the apartment. Mason’s John Mahoney’s girlfriend, who’s taken to sleeping over, and discouraging Mahoney from eating healthy and exercising; Leeves—being his physical therapist—has an investment in Mahoney doing both those things. In fact, it’s her only investment. The episode entirely skirts around the intrusion at the professional level, then ups the ante with Mason giving out Leeves’s phone number to the various barflies she knows who are looking to score.

So, you would think part of the episode would include Grammer and Mahoney—as Leeves’s employers—addressing the inappropriateness of Mason essentially promising her acquaintances physical favors from their employee, but they don’t. Instead, everyone’s able to get over it once Grammer comes in to solve the problems because he’s the only one who can do it. He’s been too busy to solve the problems because he’s sick (not to mention directing the episode), leaving Leeves with no alternative than to seek refuge at Hyde Pierce’s, where they get really close to horizontal. See, there’s a heat wave to complicate matters, especially since Hyde Pierce only has a single fan and no air-conditioning because fancy buildings don’t have AC.

The stuff with Hyde Pierce and Leeves bonding and flirting is phenomenal, with wonderful acting from both of them.

The stuff with Leeves and Mason fighting while Mahoney grins or takes no responsibility for the situation—much less a side—is annoying. It’s admirable how well Mason’s able to sway from being likable to not, but when taken as a whole, her character is exceptionally problematic through this episode.

Most of the episode takes place at the apartments, Grammer’s and Hyde Pierce’s, with a short scene at the radio station to establish Grammer’s illness, continued status as a desperate single man (Peri Gilpin tries to get him to go to a singles party), and give Gilpin and Dan Butler a scene in the episode. The rest of the time it’s Mason picking on Leeves, Leeves and Hyde Pierce in a Tennessee Williams spoof, and Grammer occasionally popping in to complain about people bothering him while he’s sick.

There’s some really good writing—script credit to Chuck Ranberg and Anne Flett-Giordano—and even a great punchline for Hyde Pierce in the otherwise pat conclusion, but the episode’s way too willing to empty the pool on characters’ proverbial depths. Leeves’s agency drains and Mason gets through without ever having to confront the idea of her intruding on privacy, even though it’s painfully obvious she’s been doing it. Despite the wonderful scenes between Hyde Pierce and Leeves (it’s such good directing from Grammer too), Leeves doesn’t need a shoulder to cry on, she needs the HR department. The episode also doesn’t do Mahoney any favors, reducing him to support for Mason.

It’s got to be one of the most uneven “Frasier” so far.

Frasier (1993) s04e19 – Three Dates and a Breakup

I don’t know if Rob Greenberg is actually on my list of “Frasier” writers to worry about or if I just think he’s on my list of “Frasier” writers to worry about and I’m mistaking the standard nineties misogyny with it being a repeating problem for Greenberg. Either way, there’s a lot to unpack, as the misogyny interacts with classism, ageism, and just plain old toxic masculinity.

The forty-eight minute episode—a two-parter, which originally aired the same night then went on to get split for syndication I assume—gets off on the wrong foot, with Kelsey Grammer and David Hyde Pierce mocking Peri Gilpin for being sweaty while jogging. She’s going to get a subplot about how her self-esteem is entirely based on what her hometown acquaintances think of her appearance. At no point do professionally trained psychiatrists Grammer or Hyde Pierce do anything but encourage her in this pursuit, albeit with an eye roll because, you know, women are silly.

It’s a profoundly thin subplot, ending with Marsha Mason age-shaming Gilpin? Hopefully Gilpin got to keep the elegant gown she eventually casually strolls around in, but it’s a heck of a subplot in a two-parter about Grammer getting dates with three women on three consecutive days. He’s so happy about it he calls and brags to a (sadly offscreen) Norm Peterson (from “Cheers”). On each of these dates, however, Mason shows up to spoil things. She and John Mahoney are in a fight and Mason’s presence in the apartment messes up the evening for Grammer. But more for his dates, as Mason tends to reveal the things Grammer’s been lying to them about in order to get them in bed.

Ah, the nineties.

Hyde Pierce’s subplot is being jealous of Grammer and also trying to make sure Mason and Mahoney’s fight ends in a breakup, even after it becomes clear the tension is having really negative effects on Mahoney. Initially only Jane Leeves—whose subplot about trying out an American accent isn’t funny, but is the only one where you don’t cringe at some point—notices something wrong with Mahoney, but soon Grammer’s picked it up and out of concern and empathy, changes his tune on Mason (he and Hyde Pierce hate her for being brassy). There’s some great material for Grammer in the finish with Mahoney, but there’s never any great material for Mahoney or Mason, even though the episode’s actually about them.

None of Grammer’s three dates make much impression–two are caricatures, one isn’t even in it enough to be a caricature. Greenberg writes the caricatures as hysterical tropes, while the last is apparently even shallower than Hyde Pierce (or Grammer just thinks so little of her, but, you know, in a good way because society girl?).

There’s some really nice direction from Jeff Melman, but given where the episode goes for Mahoney and Mason, they really ought to have gotten more. It’s also not surprising at all they didn’t; if Greenberg isn’t on my writer problem list, I’m definitely going to remember him for next time.

Though, wait, the C plot about the security guard being able to see in the elevators ends up pretty funny. Could be funnier, but it’s an actual solid laugh and not one where you’re laughing with the bully or lying serial dater.

Michael Hayes (1997) s01e08 – Death and Taxes

It’s the first episode without either show “developer” Paul Haggis or show co-creator John Romano getting at least a co-writing credit so I thought “Michael Hayes” must be on solider ground. If they’re going to trust credited writers Richard Kletter and Gardner Stern, it must be because it’s safe. Or Haggis and Romano just didn’t want this turd on their official WGA filmographies.

About the only thing the episode does right is Ruben Santiago-Hudson. Santiago-Hudson usually gets a crap part in Romano-credited episodes, this episode he’s fine. So it’s not hard to write Santiago-Hudson, the other folks apparently just really can’t do it. Because Kletter and Stern being able to do it… it ends up being the only thing they can do. If Death and Taxes isn’t the worst episode so far, it’s bad enough it’s making me forget any lower.

It’s a nineties Russian mob episode, with David Caruso trying to get earnest gas station owner George Tasudis to flip on bad guy Shaun Taub; there’s a vaguely interesting description of the gas scam Taub’s running and the episode would’ve played much better if it’d just been them trying to beat him with taxes or whatever. Instead, it’s thirty-five minutes of energetic water treading until the plot’s finally to a point where Caruso can convince Tasudis. What’s hilarious about the episode—which gets on a high horse with the differences between what the U.S. government can do to protect people versus the Russian government—is how badly Kletter and Stern work through that equation. It’s actually impressive how poorly the episode executes its conclusion—with a Russian music themed juxtapose, along with Caruso running around with a gun. I really thought we’d left the “U.S. Attorney packs heat” behind in the pilot, but I imagine—outside Hillary Danner, Peter Outerbridge, and Rebecca Rigg appearing—this episode looks a lot like what Romano had in mind before whoever with an eye on quality and competence brought in Haggis.

Outerbridge gets like three scenes and at least there isn’t a vague implication he’s working against Caruso because Caruso’s not a WASP, Danner gets maybe two scenes… Rigg also gets two, but only gets to speak in one of them. Otherwise she’s just there because they need a familiar face. It’s an abject waste of the regular cast. Though, then again, given how well the episode does with David Cubitt and Mary B. Ward, maybe less is better. It’s the inevitable episode where ex-con Cubitt gets brought back into crime because he can’t cover his debt to the loan shark–something the show’s been forecasting since it started—and also Cubitt confronting Caruso and Ward about the affair he imagines they’re having. Except the writing’s really bad and the episode’s already established Caruso and Ward have negative romantic chemistry; after this episode it’s impossible to imagine Ward having chemistry with anyone—she’s actually worse than Cubitt, which is an achievement of sorts. It’s such a bad subplot. And then for the main plot to go worse….

There are lots of one-liners for Caruso, which are both tiresome and inappropriate (at one point he forgets how many victims they’ve got and it’s not a number he ought to be forgetting because it’s a very low number), but it’s more of a “good actor in a bad show” situation than anything else. Alex Graves’s direction is a little more ambitious than it needs to be, especially when he’s so bad with the performances.

It’s a stinker. If it were episode two or three, it might be a jumping off point. It’s such bad writing. Just… such bad writing.

Theodore Bikel pops up for a couple scenes as a Russian mob specialist working for the FBI (he accepts his salary in paid dinners); he’s fine. Crap part, but he’s fine.

Last thing—and another whack at Kletter and Stern—Taub’s crime boss name is “The Little Turk,” presumably so they don’t have to keep saying Russian names, but there’s also something kind of bigoty about it. Like every time they use it they’re getting away with something. Not to mention at the time of the episode, less than 95,000 Turkish people lived in Russia? Maybe the episode’s just before Hollywood was comfortable with blond haired, blue-eyed Russians being the villains.

Whatever; it stinks. Kletter and Stern are bad at their job.

Michael Hayes (1997) s01e07 – Radio Killer

This episode is about a proto-Alex Jones (a just okay Daniel von Bargen) who incites one of his listeners to kill an ATF agent as payback for Waco (back when the sovereign citizens weren’t running government agencies) and the good guys having to figure out how they can get von Bargen for murder. It’s the first trial episode of “Michael Hayes” and it is not a good trial sequence. Not even for 1997. At some point David Caruso just starts doing a full Al Pacino with recurring judge Esther Scott yelling at him to knock it off for way too long. Scott’s not good this episode, which is too bad, because it’s entirely the script’s fault.

Of course John Romano gets half the script credit—I mean, Kelly Rowan shows up needlessly as the FBI agent who last time had the hots for a disinterested Caruso and this time seems to have read the room, but she has nothing important to do in the narrative. Other Romano script regular feature—Ruben Santiago-Hudson getting bad material—gets averted; Santiago-Hudson just doesn’t get much to do. Well, Caruso still has to tell him obvious things to do about his job (Santiago-Hudson was going to ignore Internet-based von Bargen fan clubs, Caruso has to tell him to actually investigate them). What ought to be Santiago-Hudson’s material gets shifted over to Rowan, but then there’s the added benefit of Rowan getting to team up with Rebecca Rigg. Caruso is letting Rigg run with the case—much to Peter Outerbridge’s dismay—which leads to some good acting through weak material for Rigg and some profound Bechdel fails.

Especially since Rigg ends up getting her real U.S. Attorney through witness manipulation and so on. The show’s very careful to demonize rich evil bigots (von Bargen and his cracker caricature lawyer Ben Jones) while patronizing poor dumb bigots (the killer’s girlfriend Boti Bliss). It’s a fine line, because Caruso’s ostensibly got his righteous white savior, Irish Catholic anger thing going on (hence getting away with yelling in court and ignoring Black woman judge Scott). There’s also the additional factor history’s proven “Hayes” right to some terrifying degree; the people in the nineties who were worried about potentially riled up domestic terrorists were not wrong, after all. Hearing the FBI worry about white supremacists—in the late nineties—is one heck of a “oh, the good old days.”

Unfortunately, thanks to Ashford and Romano not being very good at what they’re trying to do—though, again, to be fair, it’s CBS and it’s 1997, there weren’t that many possibilities—but it comes off like a sensationalized, exploitative liberal scaremongering about working poor non-college educated whites. It just happens to be correct, just from a time when it’s possible it wouldn’t end up being correct. See, if it were well-written, it’d age great.

Anyway, while Caruso’s letting Rigg do all the hard work so he can do the yelling in court, there’s a subplot about his brother, David Cubitt, getting involved with organized crime. Caruso tries to talk to him about it, Cubitt just wants to talk about Caruso’s great unrequited romance with Mary B. Ward (Cubitt’s suffering wife). Only Caruso and Ward have very mild chemistry, certainly not romantic, not even when they slow dance; it’s still more than Cubitt musters with anyone so I guess it’s a valid concern. It’s just this nonsense leftover from the pilot.

It’s a rollercoaster of a character arc for Rigg and she gets through it; it’s unclear if it’ll add up to anything going forward. But it’s pretty clear Romano-credited episodes of “Hayes” are going to continue to wildly disappoint. Though it’s the best Caruso’s been so far with patently bad material.

Frasier (1993) s04e18 – Ham Radio

Ham Radio relies heavily on the situation in situation comedy; it gets some good laughs, but because of who’s in the episode—and how it’s written for those particular guest stars (specifically Edward Hibbert). But the David Lloyd-credited script only advances by one-upping itself, trying to appear chaotic but always coming through linearly and predictably. Not to mention the episode relies way too much on cheap jokes. Not easy jokes, cheap ones. Like Dan Butler doing a very racist Chinese accent and then a humdinger of an ableist joke mixed in with some hard-core misogyny.

It’s frustrating because it really is a great idea for an episode (albeit entirely built around the situation). The radio station is celebrating its fiftieth anniversary so Frasier (Kelsey Grammer) wants to do a live mystery radio play; he’ll direct, the other radio station hosts and staff will play the other parts. The first scene sets up the special show and forecasts some of the drama via David Hyde Pierce’s concerns about Grammer’s “Orson Welles complex.”

As Grammer gets things arranged at the station with Peri Gilpin’s help, lots more foreshadowing of his eventual nitpicking, while also setting up Hibbert and Butler’s participation. There’s a table read sequence at Grammer’s apartment, which has guest star Richard Easton playing a “Man of a Thousand Voices” covering six of the parts. So it’s just a funny sequence of Grammer slowly getting more and more controlling, first towards Jane Leeves—who is helping time the rehearsal—then pretty much everyone. It’s good, well-directed by David Lee, minus the Butler joke with the Chinese accent, which gets an appropriate condemnation after the joke is made.

Later on when everyone makes fun of Butler’s girlfriend, Hope Allen, it’s just funny he’s dating a dyslexic stripper. Ha ha. She can’t learn her lines.

But all of the eventual disasters with the special show are pretty obvious, just none such a combination of icky and mean. But someone’s got novocaine, someone else gets mad about Grammer over-directing, someone else is mad about script changes—by the end of the episode, when Grammer’s peak megalomaniac director, it’s unclear why various people are even mad at him. Specifically. In general, sure, but specifically.

Patrick Kerr shows up for the first time in a while as the station technician; he helps with the sound effects. There are some funny set pieces with them and good recurring gags.

Hyde Pierce’s performance is probably the best, with Hibbert delightful as well. Everyone else is good, just no one quite excels, which isn’t great given it’s ostensibly spotlighting various actors throughout.

The Lee direction helps. But it’s never as funny as it ought to be and the missed opportunity hurts Grammer in particular.

Frasier (1993) s04e17 – Roz’s Turn

I’m still waiting for the great Roz episode for Peri Gilpin. It’s actually her second one in the last handful of episodes but, just like before, she gets upstaged by a guest star. This time it’s going to be it’s going to be Harriet Sansom Harris as agent-from-Hell Bebe Glazer and not the voice of Darth Vader.

Harris shows up in the second half of the episode, throwing a wrench in Gilpin’s plans to apply for to do her own show—with Kelsey Grammer’s full support—and while the episode still manages to give Gilpin a lot to do… it’s as support for Grammer. It’s a deft move (Jeff Keenan gets the writing credit) and it leverages the heck out of Harris (who once again I’m shocked didn’t ever get an Emmy for this part). But it still takes episode away from Gilpin, who gets a lot to do until she all of a sudden doesn’t. But, that initial takeaway is to showcase Jane Leeves and John Mahoney doing things they don’t usually get to do—and giving David Hyde Pierce a chance to play so horny he could die (while maintaining decorum)—but it’s still a downgrade.

The cast is helping Gilpin prepare her demo tape—a call-in show without being boring like Grammer’s, basically—and so everyone gets to do a persona. Mahoney’s a Casanova, Leeves is a vixen. It’s all really good showcasing. Keenan’s got funny stuff. It just doesn’t have a good narrative flow. Because once Harris shows up, nothing can compete. The material isn’t even the best, the delivery’s what matters and Harris is great.

We even get to see what Harris’s office looks like (her machinations end up being the A plot, more than anything stemming from Gilpin’s audio tape).

It just would’ve been nice if the episode had tried a little harder and didn’t just rely the cast being able to make the material sparkle. There have been easy episodes before, but this one just seems a little bit too easy. Like Keenan (and the room, obviously) did a fine job plotting, just not refining. If everything in the front half is just going to be prologue to a Harris tour-de-force, maybe don’t have it be one where the gags are all relying a little too often on silly absurdity. Again, Harris is awesome—and everyone’s good, with the great Mahoney and Leeves spotlights (and Hyde Pierce)—but it’s a little too self-satisfied.

Some great one-liners though. Just awesome. It’s a mixed bag with a lot of good candies.

Frasier (1993) s04e16 – The Unnatural

It’s a fathers and sons episode, both for Kelsey Grammer and guest star Trevor Einhorn and then Grammer and John Mahoney. There’s also some nice stuff for Dan Butler—implying the possibility of character development, which hasn’t really been present before—and then David Hyde Pierce gets a hilarious subplot. Both Peri Gilpin and Jane Leeves get functional roles to play, which makes certain jokes easier but brings more attention to Leeves never being in on all the jokes because of the Hyde Pierce crush more obvious. Or maybe it’s a female director (Pamela Fryman) doing a great job with it—they really do win with Einhorn though, he’s a good sitcom kid actor—and so it stands out. Michael B. Kaplan script, which increases its high points all the way to the end.

Actually, wait, there is a “reward” of sorts for Gilpin in the end credits tag, which is a single gag, but full of good implication.

The initial conflict in Kaplan’s script is Grammer trying to get a Microsoft campus tour for he and Einhorn, which requires him to ask Gilpin to contact an old boyfriend. Concurrent, Gilpin and Butler have a station softball team—did every business from the 1970s and 1990s have a softball team—subplot. The plots will collide when Gilpin gets injured and Butler—trying to be nice (it’s a very weird scene because Butler’s trying to be nice instead of pretending to be; weird and good) lies to Einhorn about Grammer’s softball skills. Einhorn decides he’d rather watch Grammer play softball than tour Microsoft.

You know, Grammer would make a good Ballmer.

Anyway.

Of course, anti-jock Grammer presumably isn’t and good at softball and he’s got to figure out what he’s going to do not to disappoint Einhorn. He’ll bring Mahoney into it for this layered father and son hopes and disappointments arc. Lots of good acting from Grammer and Mahoney. The show has these touching family scenes and they almost always happen in the apartment; getting them away—as they do in this episode—livens things up a bit and forces the actors to adapt to new settings.

The softball arc is always pretty serious—it’s probably funniest when Butler’s kicking it off, making it worse every sentence—so the big laughs come from Leeves’s subplot with Einhorn and Hyde Pierce. Einhorn’s got a crush on Leeves and everyone thinks it’s adorable but Hyde Pierce is convinced Einhorn’s a rival. Lots of really good laughs and some great acting from Hyde Pierce.

The episode is really good. The show doesn’t waste its recurring guest stars.

Frasier (1993) s04e15 – Roz’s Krantz & Gouldenstein Are Dead

It’s producer William Lucas Walker’s first writing credit on the show. I wish it weren’t so obvious—it even sounds like the laugh track is louder and more persistent in the first half of the episode (which ends up being significant entirely for its guest stars)—but every line gets a laugh and they’re not very good lines. Jeff Melman’s direction keeps it in check and the actors manage to find the timing but it is a rough first act.

The episode opens with Kelsey Grammer and David Hyde Pierce out driving and seeing Peri Gilpin working on a road crew. They whisk her away after some mediocre but also some good banter; Gilpin’s got community service and it’s road crew or visiting the old folks. Grammer talks her into doing the old folks instead of the road and her first day, the resident dies on her. Second day, resident dies on her. The subplot for the episode is Hyde Pierce needing a date for an outdoor wedding, which turns into he and Grammer making fun of each other’s wives. It’s really easy jokes from Walker, who stays sex oriented for a recurring erectile dysfunction joke.

Thank goodness it all goes away once Grammer accompanies Gilpin to the old folks home for her final attempt to fill her hours (and not kill anyone).

While Gilpin goes in and starts bonding with fun old dame Lois Smith, Grammer finds himself meeting a super-fan played by… James Earl Jones. So about a quarter of the episode is just Grammer and Jones talking to each other with their perfect voices. Their plot line has to do with Jones being blind—Walker’s got the most original ideas—and it’s a fine enough structure, albeit obvious, for a good guest star.

But Smith’s great too. She gets the deeper role, telling Gilpin all about aging while they suck down cigarettes.

It’s an oddly assembled episode—Grammer and Jones’s bit is just filler, the Hyde Pierce offscreen but fret-worthy subplot is just filler—and Gilpin doesn’t get the biggest laughs, she gets the serious stuff and Smith (rightly) runs those scenes. Though Gilpin does get the entirely solid end credit tag.

Still, it’s a far more uneven episode than this season’s seen in a while if ever.

Frasier (1993) s04e14 – To Kill a Talking Bird

“Frasier” has gotten to the point where—unless I miss the writer credit—I eagerly anticipate it. So after listing all the producers and executive producers (who’ve had writing credits on excellent episodes this season), the writing credit on Talking Bird is Jeffrey Richman, whose name wasn’t familiar (and it’s his first credited script on the show), but I wasn’t worried. Confidence in “Frasier: Season Four” is very high. And he does indeed deliver a phenomenal episode, where he’s able to get Kesley Grammer and David Hyde Pierce into a very silly sitcom situation and is able to contain the silly. Mostly thanks to Hyde Pierce being able to sell it as reasonable.

The episode opens with an overdue resolution to Hyde Pierce’s dog situation; he’s moving into an exclusive apartment building—so posh they turned up their nose at Grammer, which is some of the reason it’s worth it for Hyde Pierce—and he needs to do something about the dog. They take animals, just not cats and dogs. Lots of good one-liners in Richman’s script.

So as Hyde Pierce is trying to shove the dog off on John Mahoney, Grammer finally cracks and tells Hyde Pierce what everyone else has known—the dog’s just a stand-in for his estranged wife (and the closest we ever get to seeing Maris, I think)—which has a wonderful punchline.

Grammer’s subplot for the episode is his failed dating life. He’s ready to throw in the towel after scaring off a blind date Peri Gilpin set up, only to meet the perfect woman (a delightful Patricia Wettig) in Hyde Pierce’s building. Not only did she see him perform in Pirates of Penzance at Harvard, not only does she praise his performance, not only is she divorced too, she name-drops Harvard just like Grammer. It’s kismet. Even if Hyde Pierce didn’t want her over to his first dinner party, where he’s going to ingratiate himself to the sapphire blue blue bloods in the building.

Hyde Pierce’s apartment set is spacious and glorious, way too big for a single person, so he’s got himself a new pet to keep him company. A talking cockatoo named Baby, who it’s subtly obvious—based on Grammer’s expressions alone—Hyde Pierce got to have someone tell him he’s loved. During the family’s tour of the apartment, Mahoney gets into a great battle of the wits with the bird, which is one of the places where Richman shows off how silly he’s able to get the characters to act without breaking character. It’s excellent.

But it’s nothing compared to the dinner party, which has the bird ruining the evening in an absurd, painful, lengthy manner, with one exceptional punchline after another. Richman arranges the domino pieces discreetly and early, with the last one a particularly excellent gag.

And there’s even time for some sincere dramatics for Hyde Pierce and Grammer.

The only time it’s not superb is the end credits joke, which is appropriate enough—and leverages Hyde Pierce’s physicality and Grammer’s grumbling—but is a bit of a forced non sequitur.