I Found Larry Sanders Too Late and You Should Too

I was five years old in August, 1992, and as such have no memory of “The Larry Sanders Show” premiering on HBO because I spent most of my kindergarten years drunk. If it weren’t for participating in a TV-centric podcast, I — like most people 30 or younger — still may not have discovered Garry Shandling’s sitcom masterpiece. Finally made available on HBO Go two years ago following Shandling’s death, the show is a behind-the-scenes look at a fictional ‘90s late-night talk show with Shandling playing the vain, narcissistic host.

With the 20^th anniversary of the finale approaching this May, and a four-hour HBO documentary about Shandling by Judd Apatow — one of Shandling’s many apprentices — just released, it’s time younger generations sat on Daddy Shandling’s knee and learned about the birds and the bees.

Because to call “The Larry Sanders Show” the conception of life is no overstatement. Almost everything on TV today started with Shandling. Not knowing otherwise is to still think storks drop cute little bundled-up babies on porches.

“The Larry Sanders Show” was television on HBO before television on HBO, before “Sex and the City”, before “The Sopranos.” It was walk-and-talk moving cameras before “E.R.” and “The West Wing.” It was celebrities playing crude (or, more likely, realistic) versions of themselves before “Curb Your Enthusiasm.”

It was a workplace comedy of deeply flawed characters before Ricky Gervais created “The Office,” and Gervais cited it as a huge influence for his show, which, in turn, influenced the American “Office,” “30 Rock,” “Parks and Recreation,” “Modern Family,” etc.

It had no laugh track when every sitcom was addicted to canned laughter. It’s where, among others, Janeane Garofalo, Jon Stewart, Bob Odenkirk, Sarah Silverman, and Jeremy Piven all kick-started their television careers.

Beyond all that, it is a time capsule, a museum for a bygone era, an endless waterfall of pure, nostalgic deliciousness. I wish every decade had its own version of “The Larry Sanders Show.”

And though the show is dated, even the most out-of-touch moments don’t offend, unlike some older shows, because you were never supposed to like these people. They were insensitive and morally corrupt then, and they still are.

You are sure to cringe, however. There’s the atrocious suits and ties, the blown-out hairstyles, the pop culture references (late-night wars? Arsenio Hall??).

There’s also a constant stream of celebrities in peak ‘90s form (Robin Williams, Chris Farley, Sharon Stone, Ellen DeGeneres, to name a few of the approximate 175 guest stars), and musical acts (Wu-Tang Clan, Butthole Surfers, and more!) who often actually perform whole sets.

Which brings us to the fictional show around which everything revolves, brilliant in its realism, because, like most late-night TV, it’s not very funny. It’s corny. A typical monologue joke: “E Entertainment fired the actor who played O.J. Simpson in the civil trial re-enactment show. And they’ve already found a replacement for the $625 a week job: O.J. Simpson.”

And with Rip Torn, the show’s gruff, alcoholic producer, egging on the audience from behind the camera, everyone cheers to hide their lack of laughter.

The hackneyed late-night material is juxtaposed with the comedic genius of the behind-the-scenes shots, which comprise the majority. And when I say juxtaposed, I mean it literally. The “on-air” scenes were recorded on video, the “off-air” on film.

The funniest moments don’t translate to paper. It’s a gradual building of personalities as the seasons progress, their gross eccentricities and selfish obsessions, combined with a perfect blend of one-off guests to keep everything fresh. Don’t doubt its stay fresh-ness, either. The finale, the 89^th episode of the series, won an Emmy and a Peabody.

One of the finest examples of this guest star dynamic (though I admittedly have a bias for shithead kid characters) comes in season four, when Larry obliges Torn by hiring his estranged, and unemployed, son Cully (Colin Quinn) as a production assistant.

Thirty-something Cully saunters in with long hair and baggy clothes, unbearably childish, unafraid to mouth off about anything, and incapable of accomplishing tasks as simple as buying the crew frozen yogurt. He even harasses musical guest Chris Isaak to call Cully’s ex-girlfriend and tell her they’re hanging out, to make her jealous. “Just say we went to the taco place on Alameda, that’s her favorite,” Cully says, interrupting Isaak’s practice session.

Everyone wants Cully fired. Larry, of course, doesn’t want to take responsibility and do it himself, because he is spineless. A typical song and dance ensues between Larry and his assistant (Penny Johnson) where Larry wants her to do his dirty work.

Spoiler: the problem resolves itself when it turns out what Cully really wants is to work for UPS. “You get to wear shorts, drive around with the door open,” he says wistfully. Torn promptly uses a UPS connection and gets Cully a new job.

Everyone breathes a sigh of relief, most importantly — to him, at least — Larry. Now he can go home to his mansion, relax, and partake in his favorite evening activity: watching himself on television.

Won’t you pour yourself a salty dog (Rip Torn’s favorite!) and join him?