Last night we checked off another required item to become official Los Angeles residents, by going to see a show at the Greek Theatre. It was a celebration of the 40th anniversary of Pee-Wee’s Playhouse, as part of a Netflix comedy festival.1I was a little wary of the Netflix sponsorship being too obtrusive, and there were ads and merch all over the place and Netflix ads running non-stop before the show. But the show itself was a surprisingly good balance of sincere celebration of the series and comedy festival lineup. 2I also have to admit I genuinely appreciated their slogan for the festival: “You can’t spell LAUGH without LA and UGH.”
All credit to my husband for finding and planning it and getting the tickets, because I would’ve noped out just at the thought of trying to park at a packed event in Griffith Park. And I would’ve been wrong, because the show was fantastic.
Patton Oswalt was the host; the house band included Mark Mothersbaugh and Fred Armisen; and there were musical performances from Fred Schneider and Kate Pierson as the B-52s, Mothersbaugh and Gerald Casale of Devo, Puddles Pity Party, and Danny Elfman.
Elfman thanked Paul Reubens for picking him to do the music for Pee Wee’s Big Adventure and effectively launching his career as a composer. He then played “Breakfast Machine” (the defacto theme of the movie) with the band. Afterwards, he mentioned that Reubens chose him because he’d liked his brother’s movie Forbidden Zone, and played the theme from that.
I love “Breakfast Machine,” and it reminded me of just how timeless Pee Wee Herman is. Listening to it now, I just think “oh yeah, it’s doing a take on Raymond Scott.” Forgetting that in 1985, I’d never have been able to identify Raymond Scott by name, and hadn’t even heard any of his music outside of the Looney Toons. I don’t think of Big Adventure as being from 1985. I don’t even think of The Pee-Wee Herman Show (which later became Playhouse) as being from 1981, even though I distinctly remember quoting the HBO special in high school. All of it seems simultaneously contemporary, from 20 years ago, and from 10 years into the future, all the time.
Because it was sponsored by Netflix as part of their comedy festival, there were some performances from comedians who had a more tenuous connection to Pee Wee apart from being inspired by him or feeling like a performer he’d like. Julio Torres was the closest to feeling like a direct inspiration, doing a funny pseudo-performance art piece with a prop can of Diet Coke and wearing a sparkly version of one of Pee Wee’s suits.
Sheng Wang came out and did a funny and clever observational comedy set that didn’t quite match the vibe in theory, but he did seem sincerely to be a fan of the show for being an inspiration. Having a “normal” stand-up set actually felt appropriate as a stance against gatekeeping, even if that weren’t the intention. The reason the show was so influential wasn’t just because of Reubens’s specific brand of kitsch, but because it demonstrated the magic of just being creative, funny, and weird.
Patti Harrison was the highlight of the show for me, starting with a lengthy, heartfelt, and emotional story of how important the show was to her growing up as a queer kid in a conservative town, always getting bullied by classmates, and then brilliantly turning it into a punchline involving the night’s secret word. She then went on to deliver some inspired potty humor after complaining that they hadn’t given the performers anything to eat backstage apart from “lentil curry and some Kahlua.”
Bob the Drag Queen gave a speech in honor of Miss Yvonne, and then did a dance set to “Whatever Lola Wants” with a performer dressed as Captain Carl. I loved it as a tribute to Lynne Marie Stewart, who was absolutely wonderful, but did such an amazing job creating a character as memorable as Miss Yvonne that I can never remember her real name.
As an example of how much the show got it right, there was a performance from Michael Carbonaro, who came out wearing only a bath towel, and then did an entire dialogue-less routine set to music where he covered himself with a can of shaving cream and used it to turn himself into different characters. He was introduced simply as a performer that Reubens loved, and you could immediately tell that was true without a doubt.
The night was full of really nice moments that felt curated as a genuine tribute to the show and to Pee Wee. A lot of that is certainly due to the involvement of George McGrath. He was credited as lead writer of the short sketches, and everything had that feeling of corny, goofy, and sweet. Cheri Oteri came out to have a conversation with Chairry and Pterri about their names. A “Del Rubio Triplets tribute band” consisting of Fred Schneider, Kate Pierson, and Fred Armisen came out to perform “These Boots Are Made for Walking.” The original performers of the Playhouse gang, Cher, Elvis, and Opal, all came out to give an update on what they’d been doing as adults, but all the stories were kind of fishy. We got to see the recurring short films as interludes, including a cartoon.
It was really great that in addition to several of the puppets (including Conky, Globey, Clocky, the Cowntess, and Randy) being there, many of them were performed by their original puppeteers. They got a long standing ovation from the entire theater.
I didn’t expect to get so emotional during the show, but there were constant reminders of how many great and talented performers Reubens had assembled. And how many have passed: in addition to Stewart and Reubens himself, there were glimpses of John Paragon and Phil Hartman. Mothersbaugh and the band played the show’s end theme, and Torres crossed the stage on Pee Wee’s scooter, and I definitely teared up a bit.
But they didn’t treat it as a sentimental tribute or memorial. At the end of the show, the entire cast of the night came on stage to dance to “Tequila,” including several performers dressed as recurring characters like Penny, Captain Carl, Cowboy Curtis, the flowers, and the fish.
The other thing that made me sentimental was seeing the B-52s. I don’t know if they ever directly collaborated with Pee Wee, but there was not even a hint of question that they belonged there. The Venn Diagram of Pee Wee fans and B-52s fans is a solid circle. Cindy Wilson wasn’t able to make it, and Keith Strickland hasn’t been touring with the band for years, but they still carried on as if they hadn’t been making music since before I was born.
It made me remember the first “real” concert I ever went to, which wasn’t until I was a sophomore in college, at another (smaller) outdoor theater in Athens. It was the B-52s as they were on tour promoting Cosmic Thing, and they performed two of the exact same songs that they did last night: “Love Shack,” and “Rock Lobster.” It was poignant to be reminded that a lot of these people have been with me for about as long as I can remember. The biggest difference is that now, everybody’s freer to be openly and happily weird and queer. And of course, because it was a Pee Wee Herman show, they danced along with a human-sized rock lobster.
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