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      Enough With Prestige TV. Give Me the Bloopers!

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      In a world of bad vibes, I just want to see an actor break.In the summer of 2023, while a confused nation binged old episodes of the gourmet cheeseball legal drama “Suits,” I chose instead to fixate on a “Suits” blooper reel. It’s on YouTube. It’s 16 minutes long and consists primarily of the star of the series, Gabriel Macht — he plays Harvey, a cocky lawyer who works at the same firm as the woman played by the future Duchess of Sussex — flubbing lines, wiggling his eyebrows, moonwalking, mispronouncing “behalves,” playfully pretending to punch his co-stars in the face and dissolving into giggles when one of those co-stars calls him “Chucklebutt.”I have never watched a full episode of “Suits,” neither when it originally ran on the USA Network throughout the 2010s nor when Netflix shrewdly revived it. Still, I returned to these “Suits” bloopers multiple times a day, every day, for months. They delighted and comforted me, as legal dramas never do.I dig blooper reels, man. I dig the slapstick, the loopiness, the unexpected poignancy, the genial chaos. I first encountered this universe as a child via the crucial (and poignant!) 1989 direct-to-VHS classic “Dazzling Dunks and Basketball Bloopers,” in which the N.B.A. gods of my youth proved themselves to be mortal by occasionally whining to the refs. And now, as a weary adult with too much to worry about and too much stuff to watch, I find blooper reels to be richer texts than the shows and movies from which they derive. Macht from “Suits” saying, “Donna, Judge Atkins is ready to hear my motion for summary judgment”: boring. Inert. I don’t care about any of these people. Macht from “Suits” repeatedly stumbling over the words, “Donna, Judge Atkins is ready to hear my motion for summary judgment” until he growls, “Oh, my God, this line”: hilarious. Winsome. Engrossing. A celebration of man’s imperfection. I think that’s beautiful.Sometimes I love bloopers for their wanton silliness. Jason Schwartzman splitting his pants during a “Scott Pilgrim vs. the World” sword fight. Will Ferrell waxing rhapsodic about the nice bluish hue of his plums on “Eastbound & Down.” Jenna Ortega accidentally clonking a young lady in the face with a flashlight while filming “Wednesday.” Jerry Stiller incapacitating Julia Louis-Dreyfus with his impassioned delivery of “What the hell does that mean?” on “Seinfeld”; Chris Pratt incapacitating the entire set of “Parks and Recreation” by suggesting that Kim Kardashian has a great comeback story. The bloopers during the end credits of Jackie Chan movies, in which Jackie Chan gets injured doing various Jackie Chan-type stunts. Ryan Gosling as a competent dramatic actor: Lovely. Good job. Ryan Gosling tittering ineptly through nearly every “Saturday Night Live” sketch in which he has ever appeared: awesome. Bizarrely compelling. A legacy to be proud of.Sometimes I watch this stuff while I’m writing. For each paragraph (or sentence) I grind out, I reward myself by returning (briefly!) to the split pants, the juicy plums, the copious giggling. This is not an especially noble impulse: Bloopers distract me, revert me to the childlike state that is my preferred adult mode.But often my love for such tomfoolery is more complicated, more emotionally fraught, more, dare I say, sophisticated. Because it turns out that sometimes grimly prestigious TV shows have blooper reels too, and I find these bloopers to be both delightful and bizarrely soothing. Look: I hate conflict, stylized cruelty, cross-examination, grittiness, bleakness, middle- to highbrow tragedy. Regrettably, the best (or at least biggest) shows on TV are often full of all that. I watched every episode of “Breaking Bad” and “Game of Thrones” and “The Americans” but didn’t really enjoy myself at all; I enjoy all those shows’ respective blooper reels very much, though. I hate watching people being mean to one another, and I love it when one of those people biffs a line and ruins the take and everyone dissolves into giggles. See? They’re actually friends! Everyone’s having a good time! The world is a fundamentally friendly and goofy and joyful place! Bleakness and cruelty are entirely fictional constructs!We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      Martin Mull, Comic Actor Who Starred in ‘Mary Hartman,’ Dies at 80

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      Mr. Mull was also known for his roles in “Clue,” “Roseanne” and “Veep.”Martin Mull, the comedic actor, musician and artist who gained widespread attention in the 1970s in shows such as “Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman” and “Fernwood 2-Night,” and remained active in television and film over the next half-century, died on Thursday at his home in Los Angeles. He was 80.His wife, Wendy Mull, confirmed his death. He died after a long illness, his family said. No cause was given.In “Mary Hartman,” Mr. Mull played Garth Gimble, a domestic abuser who met his demise by being impaled on the star atop an aluminum Christmas tree.He starred in the show’s subsequent spinoff, “Fernwood 2-Night,” a parody of talk shows that aired in 1977. He played the talk-show host Barth Gimble, the twin brother of Garth Gimble.The actors Fred Willard, Martin Mull and Frank De Vol on “Fernwood 2-Night” in 1977.Everett Collection“With an undistinguished blond mustache, which may or may not be intended as a joke, Barth copes manic‐depressively with a shaky job situation and some hazy allegations about charges pending against him in Florida,” John J. O’Connor of The New York Times wrote in a review in 1977 of the show’s opening week. “Barth will say only that his lawyer thinks he has ‘a pretty darn good case for entrapment.’”He was also known for his roles in “Clue” (1985) and the television shows “Roseanne” and “Arrested Development.” He also played the character Bob Bradley, an aide to the main character in the political sitcom “Veep.”More recently, Mr. Mull appeared in the Fox television series “The Cool Kids,” about a group of rule-breaking friends living in a retirement community.Martin E. Mull was born on Aug. 18, 1943, in Chicago to Harold and Betty Mull. He earned degrees from the Rhode Island School of Design. His work appeared in gallery shows and in the Whitney and Metropolitan museums.In addition to his wife, he is survived by a daughter, Maggie Mull.In a 2018 interview with The Times, he described his approach to his art as “going back and finding old Life and Look magazines, people’s family photos and things like that, and then I collage from those, make my own images and then paint them.”A full obituary will follow.Alain Delaquérière More

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      ‘The Interview’: Eddie Murphy Is Ready to Look Back

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      Eddie Murphy has been so famous for so long, occupying such a lofty place in the cultural landscape, that it can be easy to overlook just how game-changing a figure he actually is.Let’s start, as Murphy’s career did, with standup. There had been star comics before — Steve Martin, Richard Pryor — but none exploded with anything like Murphy’s speed or intensity. Swaggering, magnetic and able to bounce between sweet personal storytelling and controversial, defiantly un-P.C. material, he was, and forgive me for mixing disciplines, a rock star. “Eddie Murphy: Raw,” released in 1987 when he was only 26, is the highest-grossing standup-comedy film ever — still. The scale of his success, and the fact he achieved it without dulling his edge, redefined what a comedian could do, paving the way for the likes of Kevin Hart and Chris Rock.Listen to the Conversation With Eddie MurphyDavid Marchese talks to the comedy legend about navigating the minefield of fame, “Family Feud” and changing Hollywood forever.Subscribe: Apple Podcasts | Spotify | YouTube | Amazon Music | NYT Audio AppHe also, of course, cast his spell on TV. When Murphy arrived at “Saturday Night Live” in 1980, the show was thought to be on the verge of cancellation. Through sheer force of charisma as well as instantly iconic, hilariously unpredictable recurring characters like his crotchety Gumby and the Mr. Rogers parody Mr. Robinson, Murphy brought the show back to life. A highly plausible argument can be made that without him, television’s most reliable comedy-star-making machine might not have made it to a 10th anniversary, let alone be nearing its 50th.But Murphy made his greatest mark in movies, where he reached new heights, for comedians and Black performers, of popularity and bankability. He helped pioneer the action-comedy genre with his quippy, improvisational-feeling performances in movies like “Beverly Hills Cop” and “48 Hrs.” And then in the mid-1990s, after a bit of a career dip, he transitioned to family-friendly films like “Shrek” and “The Nutty Professor” (one of multiple comedies in which Murphy virtuosically played wildly different characters), and continued to score giant hits.All of which is to say that American pop culture looked different after Eddie Murphy came along. Now he’s returning to the character that sent his career into the stratosphere with “Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F,” which comes to Netflix on July 3. It arrives 40 years after the first film in the series, in which Murphy stars as the wisecracking detective Axel Foley. He is clearly comfortable with the role — and with himself. In recent years, Murphy has been a somewhat enigmatic offscreen presence, but as I found out over the course of our two long conversations in the spring, he can be open and relaxed. He was eager to reflect on what he has achieved, share some Hollywood stories, explain why doing standup doesn’t appeal to him anymore and reveal the dream project he has never gotten off the ground. More

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      The Culture Desk: Think ‘The Bear’ Is Overrated? Here’s What to Watch Instead.

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      Margaret Lyons and Elyssa Dudley and The highly anticipated third season of “The Bear” arrives this week. Our television critic Margaret Lyons and television editor Jeremy Egner sat down to talk about their love-hate relationship with the show and dissect their favorite episode. And if you can’t stand to hear even one more “Yes, Chef,” they have recommendations for shows to watch instead.On today’s episodeJeremy Egner, the television editor of The Times.Margaret Lyons, a television critic for The Times.Photo Illustration by The New York Times; Photo: Frazer Harrison/Getty ImagesThe New York Times Audio app is home to journalism and storytelling, and provides news, depth and serendipity. If you haven’t already, download it here — available to Times news subscribers on iOS — and sign up for our weekly newsletter. More

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      Keith Robinson on Having 2 Strokes and Making a Netflix Special

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      After two strokes, the stand-up has recovered enough to make a new special. If anything, his health crises have sharpened his humor.When the stand-up comic Keith Robinson was 10 years old growing up in Philadelphia, his father was stabbed to death in a bar. Sitting in the restaurant above the Comedy Cellar in New York on a recent weekday afternoon, Robinson explained what happened dispassionately, adding that the killer died soon after.“He got shot accidentally on purpose,” he told me, flashing a mischievous grin and saying nothing more.This is the kind of story that Robinson, 60, likes to tell, one with prickly uncomfortable humor and some tough-guy swagger. But Robinson is currently at the center of a different kind of dramatic narrative, less HBO, more Lifetime channel: He had two strokes in four years, robbing him temporarily of speech and mobility; then, against the odds, he recovered enough to return to the stage.Robinson has been a fixture at the Cellar for three decades, as much a part of the fabled club as the microphone and the hummus. A comedy Zelig, he did stand-up on “Star Search” in the 1980s; was a regular on the Comedy Central show “Tough Crowd,” inspired by the table at the Cellar where Robinson, Colin Quinn and others hung out and bickered; and even wrote on the aborted third season of “Chappelle’s Show.” He has been a mentor to many comics, especially stand-ups from Philadelphia, most famously Kevin Hart who produced Robinson’s last special a decade ago.When Amy Schumer heard Robinson’s difficulty speaking after his second stroke, in 2020, “I thought he was completely done,” she told me by phone. Now she is the executive producer of his new special, “Different Strokes” (Netflix), a jarringly unsentimental take on his health crisis that tells what could be a feel-good story with cranky irreverence.Onstage, Robinson says that facing death taught him this lesson: “If there’s someone you wanted to punch, punch them now.”We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      The Meme-ification of Anthony Bourdain

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      The beloved chef’s admirers have given him a distinctly modern kind of digital afterlife — at the center of fondly parodic jokes.After Anthony Boudain took his own life in June 2018, the internet was flooded with content memorializing him: obituaries, remembrances, bereft tweets by celebrities and regular citizens alike. But one post in particular foretold the chef’s afterlife on social media. Kyrell Grant, who tweeted as @imbobswaget, suggested that Bourdain had the charismatic aura of someone you might expect to be well endowed — except she said that using a pithy new catchphrase that would quickly enter the popular lexicon, garnering its own entry on Dictionary.com.That message on Twitter (now X) may have marked a transition in how people memorialized Bourdain. He was remembered, chiefly, as someone lovable and accessible: straight-talking, salt-of-the-earth, as thoughtful as he was devil-may-care. A real grief surrounded his loss, and he inspired the same types of posthumous adoration so many figures do, complete with words-of-wisdom quotes pasted over nature photos. But it soon became just as common to see posts playing on his drinking habits or salty comebacks; people began to use images of him in the same ways we use images of pop-culture characters like SpongeBob SquarePants or Homer Simpson. Anthony Bourdain became, in short, a meme.Anthony Bourdain in Hanoi, Vietnam, in 2016.William MebaneLast month a new Bourdain meme made the rounds. The chef had offered several oft-quoted bits of advice urging people to explore and enjoy the world: “If you’re 22, physically fit, hungry to learn and be better, I urge you to travel,” or, “Open your mind, get up off the couch, move.” But this new meme paired a pensive portrait of Bourdain with ever more parodic versions of that sentiment. “Go to a [expletive] restaurant. I don’t care what. Go to a [expletive] restaurant and order a [expletive] beer.” A less profane version prodded the reader to take a chance on a Hinge date: “Show her a picture of your cats. Show her two. Give her a tissue while she cries over her ex. Jump over a fence to impress her. Break your ankle. Never hear from her again.” Another tribute hits like whiskey left at a virtual grave: booty shorts emblazoned with the words I MISS ANTHONY BOURDAIN.If you too miss Anthony Bourdain, and you want to engage in serious communion with his oeuvre, there’s a vast trove of media to satiate your craving: 11 books, various essays and graphic novels, hours and hours of television. He participated in countless interviews, appeared on podcasts, played characters based on himself in TV guest appearances. You might dip into the subreddit r/Anthony Bourdain, which, with its 61,000 members, is in the top 2 percent of Reddit communities by size; that forum, far more earnest than X, is often engaged in forlorn discussion.But even in that hallowed space, memes cannot help infiltrating. Yet another variation on fake Bourdain advice recently emerged there, imploring the viewer to eat at Chili’s and get an appetizer combo. Some commenters expected moderators to delete the parody; after all, it didn’t “honor” the group’s subject. Others argued that they shouldn’t. Bourdain was a prodigious Twitter user and a funny one; his afterimage, in most minds, is as someone who could laugh at himself. Surely, people felt, he would have appreciated the lightness of a good Bourdain meme.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      Conan O’Brien Doesn’t Matter

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      After hosting talk shows for nearly three decades, Conan O’Brien has come to believe that longevity is overrated. The first time he made this point to me was in April at a restaurant in New York, when he proposed that all statues and monuments should be made with durable soap that dissolves in seven years. One month later, in his office in Los Angeles, down the hall from his podcast studio, he went further, declaring himself anti-graveyard.Asked if this means he wants to be cremated, O’Brien responded: “I want to be left in a ditch and found by a jogger.” Taking up space in a cemetery seems selfish to him. “I say this in a positive way,” he added, leaning forward and shifting to a less jokey tone. “We don’t matter.”Since leaving late-night television in 2021, Conan O’Brien, 61, has become more reflective about life (and death), given to philosophical flights of fancy that he compulsively alternates with comic tangents. O’Brien famously champions the intersection between smart and stupid, but in conversation, what stands out is how quickly he moves between light and heavy. In one of several interviews, I asked him if he was happier now than when he was on television and his response was to question happiness itself. “At best it’s a fleeting moment after a rainstorm when the sun’s coming out,” he said. “Being contented comes in little moments, here and there.”The only thing trickier than being a late-night talk show host is being a former one. Some relapse (Jon Stewart). A few vanish (Johnny Carson, Craig Kilborn). Most enter a more modest era (David Letterman, Jay Leno). Since he started writing for “Saturday Night Live” in the 1980s, Conan O’Brien has built one of the most consequential careers in comedy. And while his late-night tenure is beloved by comedy nerds, helping define a sensibility for a generation of comedians like Bill Hader, Eric André and Nikki Glaser, his postshow work may turn out to be more impressive.It helps that his brand of joyfully goofy absurdity ages well. Stewart may have repeatedly beaten him out for Emmys during the George W. Bush years, but jokes about the Iraq War have a shorter shelf life than the masturbating bear, a recurring character on O’Brien’s late-night show that is exactly what it sounds like. His reputation has grown as new generations have discovered his work online.The other reason O’Brien has done well since leaving “Conan,” his final late-night show (after “Late Night” and “The Tonight Show”), is that he’s always been excited by and open to experimentation. “I enjoyed playing with that form,” he said of the talk show. “The stuff I’m really interested in, there’s so many opportunities to do it now. ‘Hot Ones’ is proof.”We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      Murray Hill’s Showbiz Dream

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      The almost famous drag king comedian Murray Hill struts through Melvyn’s Restaurant & Lounge, an old school steakhouse in Palm Springs, Calif.Melvyn’s is Mr. Hill’s kind of place. It has steak Diane on the menu, black-and-white head shots of celebrities on the walls and the aroma of crêpes suzette flambéing in the air. And Palm Springs is Mr. Hill’s kind of town — faded midcentury Hollywood glamour, with a modern dash of queer culture.Moving past diners wearing pastel polo shirts and golf shorts, Mr. Hill cuts a distinctive figure in his three-piece baby blue seersucker suit and white loafers. His pencil-thin mustache, tinted glasses and shiny rings complete a look that brings to mind a 1970s Las Vegas lounge singer crossed with a 1950s Borscht Belt comedian.He is a somebody, clearly. But who?He sits down, studies the menu. His glance falls on the section for steak toppings, which are listed under the heading “Enhancements.”“‘Enhancements’?” he cries, loudly enough for almost everyone in the place to hear. “I already got them. They’re back at the house. They’re on the drying rack!”Mr. Hill, 52, speaks with the hint of a Brooklyn wiseguy accent and punctuates anything remotely to do with the entertainment industry — the rungs of which he has been tirelessly climbing for some 30 years — with a cry of “Showbiz!”We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More