Podcast Tuesday: "Oh, Dear God..."

Greg Kinnear in Dear God.

After the catastrophic failure of his kinky softcore sex comedy Exit to Eden (1994), director Garry Marshall decided to do something completely different with his follow-up film, Dear God (1996). This time around, he made a squeaky clean, heartwarming holiday film in the tradition of Frank Capra's It's a Wonderful Life (1946) and George Seaton's Miracle on 34th Street (1947). Surely, this would get him back on the right track career-wise and allow him to reconnect with the audiences who had loved Happy Days (1974-84) and Pretty Woman (1990). For extra insurance, he cast up-and-coming actor Greg Kinnear, who had already proved extremely popular with viewers across America, in the lead role of Tom Turner, a con man with a heart of gold.

How surprised and frustrated Garry must have been when Dear God bombed with critics and audiences nearly as badly as Exit to Eden had two years previously. The film was box office poison and received withering reviews to boot. It quickly disappeared from theaters and didn't make much of a splash on home video or cable either. Garry had missed again.

But that was nearly 30 years ago. A lot can happen in 30 years. Maybe Dear God has aged like fine wine. Or maybe it's somehow gotten even worse since the Clinton years. This week on These Days Are Ours: A Happy Days Podcast, we find out by doing a thorough review of this forgotten film. If I were you, I'd click that play button.

Podcast Tuesday: "Horny Idiot Island"

Dan Aykroyd (left) and Rosie O'Donnell in Exit to Eden.

What made him do it?

It's one of the great mysteries of movie history. Why did Garry Marshall, the genial Brooklyn writer-producer-director behind such decidedly mainstream fare as Happy Days (1974-1984) and Pretty Woman (1990), think he was the man to bring Anne Rice's kinky BDSM novel Exit to Eden (1985) to the screen? And why did he enlist Happy Days showrunner Bob Brunner to cowrite the screenplay? More importantly, what are Dan Aykroyd, Rosie O'Donnell, Dana Delany, and Iman doing in this thing? So many questions. So few answers.

Nevertheless, in the latest installment of These Days Are Ours: A Happy Days Podcast, we talk about the megabomb Exit to Eden (1994), certainly one of the most unusual films of its year (or any year). We analyze the plot (what little of it there is), critique the actors, compare the film to the novel, and speculate about what it all means. This episode, I can tell you, was quite an ordeal to research, record, and produce. It would be rude of you to skip it, and I know you're not a rude person. So click that play button. You wouldn't want me to spank you on your tushy, would you?

Incidentally, this episode marks something of a technical milestone, as it's the first one completely written, recorded, and edited on my new laptop. I think my previous one, purchased from a Best Buy in 2015, has seen its final days. Goodbye, trusted friend. You were enjoyed.

Podcast Tuesday: "Frankie Goes to Johnnywood"

Michelle Pfeiffer and Al Pacino in Garry Marshall's Frankie & Johnny.

Director Garry Marshall and playwright Terrence McNally both faced professional challenges in 1991. Garry's challenge was following up the biggest movie of his career, Pretty Woman (1990). Terrence's challenge was taking his humble, two-character play Frankie and Johnny in the Claire de Lune (1987) and expanding it into a major motion picture featuring two enormous stars, Michelle Pfeiffer and Al Pacino.

As it happens, Marshall and McNally were working on the same project: the $29 million Paramount production Frankie & Johnny (1991). Perhaps wary of trying to top Pretty Woman, Marshall opted to tell the humble story of a chef named Johnny (Pacino) and a waitress named Frankie (Pfeiffer) who meet at the New York diner where they both work and embark upon a romantic relationship. Johnny sees Frankie as his soulmate and wants to pursue a serious relationship. Frankie's been hurt before and wants to keep things casual. Who prevails? Have you seen a movie before?

This week on These Days Are Ours: A Happy Days Podcast, we're reviewing Frankie & Johnny. We talk about the film, the play, New York diners, "Love Shack," and many other topics. We'd be very pleased and happy if you'd join us.

Podcast Tuesday: "Attractive Female"

Richard Gere and Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.

As my cohost and I have made our way through the films of Garry Marshall, I've been reminded time and again of just how different media consumption was in the 1980s and '90s. For one thing, I saw a lot more movies in the theater back then, at least three or four each month. These days, I'll see maybe two or three movies a year on the big screen.

Another big difference was that, in the days before streaming, we were reliant on VHS tapes if we wanted to screen a film at home. Most we rented, a few we owned. This system wasn't all bad. My sister and I had our own VHS copy of Garry Marshall's smash romcom Pretty Woman (1990) and watched it dozens of times. That film simply became part of our consciousness, and we quoted it frequently.

This week on These Days Are Ours: A Happy Days Podcast, we talk about Pretty Woman. The film was extremely popular in its own time, but how does it hold up in ours? Well, click below to find out.

Podcast Tuesday: "The Teaches of Beaches"

Barbara Hershey and Bette Midler in Beaches.

Remember the so-called "monoculture"? If you grew up in the 1980s or earlier, you certainly do. Back then, due to the constraints of technology and commerce, we mostly consumed the same media at the same time as everyone else. Whatever the "big" movies and TV shows were, that's what we watched. Whatever was in the Top 40, that's what we listened to. This may not sound like an ideal system, but it gave us a common frame of reference. When we talked about "the media" in the abstract, we were referring to the same material. Cable and home video started to erode the monoculture just a bit in the '80s, but the '90s was when the entertainment world truly started splintering into a lot of little hyper-specific facets.

Nowadays, thanks to the internet and the rise of personal devices like smartphones and tablets (meant to be used by an individual rather than a group), the entertainment we consume is well-tailored to our various demographic groups and delivered to us by algorithms that know us better than we know ourselves. We stay in our lanes, culturally speaking, and it's considered "weird" (read; undesirable) to do otherwise. In 2025, it's very possible to have a supposed "hit" song that most of the country has never heard or a "hit" TV show that most of the country isn't even aware of. If it's not intended for you, it generally doesn't reach you. I suppose the last vestiges of the monoculture are the big franchise films that dominate the box office: the sequels, remakes, reboots, and adaptations of familiar intellectual properties.

Director Garry Marshall's fifth film, Beaches (1988)—a tearjerking melodrama starring Bette Midler and Barbara Hershey as lifelong friends with clashing personalities—is a definite product of the monoculture. Produced by Walt Disney's Touchstone Pictures division, it's a film designed to appeal to the widest-possible audience. And it did just that! Not only was the film a hit in theaters and on video, it launched a massive hit single ("Wind Beneath My Wings") and led to one of its cast members (Mayim Bialik) getting her own prime time sitcom. I don't think any of this would be remotely possible in 2025. Today, a film like Beaches, if it got made at all, would be shuffled off to a streaming service and quickly forgotten. Indeed, a 2017 remake of the film went straight to cable and was largely ignored.

So Beaches is a reminder of who we once were and of what pop culture used to be. But is that a good thing or a bad thing? We'll try to figure all that out as we review it in the latest installment of These Days Are Ours: A Happy Days Podcast.

Podcast Tuesday: "Stockholm Syndrome: The Romantic Comedy!"

Kurt Russell and Goldie Hawn in Overboard.

Boy, were we obsessed with money in the 1980s! It was all we ever thought about, apart from sex, drugs, leg warmers, video games, and the music of Adam Ant. 

Admittedly, we humans have been obsessed with money ever since it was invented about five-thousand years ago, but our fixation on the topic hit a new high during the Reagan-Bush years. Or a new low, depending on your point of view. Either way, the subject dominated popular culture across all media in the '80s. On the radio, we'd hear "Money for Nothing," "Big Time," "Opportunities (Let's Make Lots of Money)," and "Material Girl." On television, we'd tune into capitalist fantasies like Dallas, Dynasty, Diff'rent Strokes, Silver Spoons, and Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. These shows taught us that, with enough cash in your bank account, you could live as you please and make your most vulgar consumerist dreams come true. And we bought into it!

But the movies outdid them all! Year after year, Hollywood gave us silly, over-the-top comedies about the extremely wealthy, often showcasing how they reacted to being around the extremely unwealthy.  Just off the top of my head, I remember Arthur (1981), Annie (1982), Trading Places (1983), Brewster's Millions (1985), Ruthless People (1986), Down and Out in Beverly Hills (1986), Big Business (1988), Coming to America (1988), and more. This was a time when it seemed like the characters in film comedies always had maids and butlers.

Somewhere in all this mess was Garry Marshall's fourth feature film, Overboard (1987) starring Goldie Hawn as a spoiled rich woman who loses her memory and Kurt Russell as an earthy carpenter who takes advantage of that situation. Edward Herrmann, Katherine Helmond, and Roddy McDowell come along for the ride. Have you already guessed that this is the film we're covering this week on These Days Are Ours: A Happy Days Podcast? Well, it is. You can hear what we thought of Overboard by clicking the play button below.

Podcast Tuesday: "Diabetic Neuropathy of a Salesman"

Tom Hanks and Jackie Gleason square off in Nothing in Common.

Back in the 1980s, movies depended a lot more on star power than they do today. In the 2020s, some franchise or intellectual property is generally the "star" that sells a movie. But the way to market a film successfully forty years ago was to emphasize the big-name actors in it. If there were any major celebrities in a movie, the studio would make damned sure that their famous names and equally-famous faces appeared very prominently on the posters and in the trailers. 

Garry Marshall's comedy-drama Nothing in Common (1986) is a perfect example. The film is about a hotshot Chicago ad executive whose aging parents suddenly split up. What the ad campaign really wants you to know, however, is that the movie stars Tom Hanks and Jackie Gleason. The one-sheet is literally a closeup of their faces, glaring at each other. Why should you go to the theater? To see these two guys that you already know from other stuff.

Whenever my parents asked my grandmother to accompany us to a new movie, she'd always ask, "Who's in it?" And if we couldn't supply any famous names in the cast, she wouldn't be interested. When Nothing in Common came out, I'm sure it was Jackie Gleason's presence that convinced Grandma to go with us to the theater that day. So we saw Garry Marshall's film as a family. I can't remember if any of us loved or hated it. In fact, there were only a few aspects of the film that stuck in my memory at all, namely Tom Hanks' answering machine message and Jackie Gleason's diabetes-ravaged foot.

Is there anything more to Nothing in Common worth remembering? This week on These Days Are Ours, my cohost and I review the film and give you our unvarnished opinions on it. Please do join us.

Podcast Tuesday: "The Devil's Cabana Boy"

Janet Jones, Matt Dillon, and Jessica Walter in The Flamingo Kid.

One of the common complaints about Happy Days in its later seasons is that the long-running sitcom gradually gave up on the nostalgia angle that had been so important to its initial success. Oh, sure, you'd still hear the occasional oldie on the soundtrack, and Fonzie (Henry Winkler) never stopped wearing that iconic leather jacket. But Happy Days didn't put much effort into this aspect of the show in its final years. It became just another generic sitcom that might as well have been set in the 1980s.

Had Happy Days creator Garry Marshall lost interest in recapturing the past? Not hardly! His second directorial effort, a coming-of-age film called The Flamingo Kid (1984), was awash in the cars, clothes, hairdos, and slang of the early 1960s. What's more, the film was set in Brooklyn, where Garry himself grew up. The film definitely evokes a time and a place, much more so than late-period Happy Days did. But does this mean The Flamingo Kid is a great film? Is it "better" than Happy Days? The only way you'll know is to listen to the latest installment of These Days Are Ours.

Podcast Tuesday: "But What I Really Want to Do is Direct"

This moment is the culmination of a longtime dream for Garry Marshall.

By the summer of 1982, it looked like Garry Marshall's long and prosperous career in television was slowly winding down. Mork & Mindy had just wrapped, while Laverne & Shirley and Happy Days were obviously in their waning years. Garry had been a writer, producer, and occasional director in that medium for decades, but he was understandably anxious to move on to the next phase of his career: directing feature films.

Fortunately, he got his chance with a wacky ensemble comedy called Young Doctors in Love. Set at the fictional "City Hospital" and partially filmed at the Biltmore Hotel in Los Angeles, the film follows the misadventures of some rambunctious young interns over the course of a single, eventful year. The cast Marshall assembled for this movie is astonishing: Michael McKean, Sean Young, Pamela Reed, Taylor Negron, Harry Dean Stanton, Dabney Coleman, Patrick Macnee, a pre-Seinfeld Michael Richards, and many more. This was also the film that established the working relationship between director Marshall and actor Hector Elizondo. And it was all underwritten by ABC Motion Pictures, the filmmaking branch of the TV network that Garry Marshall had served so faithfully in the '70s.

Does any of this add up to a good movie? You can find out by listening to the newest installment of These Days Are Ours: A Happy Days Podcast.

Podcast Tuesday: "Coping with the Happy Days Musical (Act 1)"

The happy, happy cast of Happy Days: A New Musical.

When Howard Ashman and Alan Menken adapted Roger Corman's dark comedy Little Shop of Horrors (1960) as a stage musical in 1982, it was rather a novelty in the theater world. Stage shows based on movies weren't exactly unknown back then—think of Sondheim's A Little Night Music (1973), based on Ingmar Bergman's Smiles of a Summer Night (1955)—but generally the adaptation process went the other direction. Stage musicals became movies, not the other way around.

Nowadays, due to the success of movie-based shows like The Producers (2001), Hairspray (2002), and Spamalot (2004), it seems like every fondly-remembered pop culture property gets its own theatrical musical eventually. It's not surprising at all that Happy Days (1974-1984) would also get this treatment, especially since the long-running sitcom was already heavily influenced by the stage show Grease (1971). And so, in 2007, Happy Days: A New Musical debuted to generally positive reviews. It never reached Broadway but has become a rather popular choice for high schools and community theater troupes.

A few years ago, my cohost suggested we cover the Happy Days musical on These Days Are Ours, but I've been putting it off for some reason. Now that we've finished all eleven seasons of the sitcom and both seasons of the cartoon, it feels like it's finally time to cover the stage show, which has a book by Garry Marshall and songs by Paul Williams. That's an impressive pedigree. Does the show live up to it? This week on the podcast, we try to answer that question as we review Act 1.

Podcast Tuesday: "8MM"

Erin Moran on Happy Days.

Happy Days is not usually thought of as an innovative or experimental series. And for good reason: it's a very safe, predictable, mainstream show, meant to appeal to the widest possible audience. Many of its viewers were young children who simply wanted to see their hero, ace mechanic and ladies' man Fonzie (Henry Winkler), in action. Producer Garry Marshall was not really interested in pushing the limits of the prime time sitcom, at least not this time around. (He and director Jerry Paris had both previously worked on the more daring The Dick Van Dyke Show.) The only way Happy Days truly stands out from its competitors is that it's set in the late 1950s and early 1960s.

Over on CBS, meanwhile, M*A*S*H (the other big 1950s-set show of the era) was constantly testing the boundaries of the sitcom genre. The very subject matter, i.e. the Korean War, meant that violence and bloodshed were major elements of the series. The plots freely mixed comedy with drama, sometimes veering into outright tragedy. Stories didn't necessarily come to a tidy resolution after 30 minutes. And the producers were even experimenting with the very form of the half-hour comedy, sometimes formatting episodes as pseudo-documentaries or dream sequences. Aesthetically, Happy Days and M*A*S*H were polar opposites.

But Happy Days did occasionally break out of its rut and do something unusual. There are the history episodes, for instance, like "The First Thanksgiving" and "The Roaring Twenties," where we get to see what the characters would look and act like if they'd lived in other times. There are musical episodes like "Be My Valentine" and "American Musical," in which the actors get to show off their singing and dancing skills. And then there's "Home Movies," the two-part episode that starts Season 9. Not only does this one have a rare multi-story format, it's all presented as a home movie that Joanie (Erin Moran) is sending to Richie (the absent Ron Howard). It's about as M*A*S*H-like as Happy Days ever gets.

But does that mean it's any good? Find out on the latest installment of These Days Are Ours: A Happy Days Podcast.

Podcast Tuesday: "This Strange and Mournful Day"

Henry Winkler and Jains Paige on Happy Days.

Some TV producers plan entire seasons of their shows in advance. They have grand, long-term plans in mind for their characters from the moment they dream those characters up. I don't think Garry Marshall was ever that way with his sitcoms. Especially with Happy Days (1974-84), he and his writers seem to be winging it completely, making it up week by week with very little thought toward the future. 

As a result, the show has a reckless, haphazard quality to it as it lurches through 11 seasons of stories. Yes, there are long-term developments in the characters' lives, but these changes happen largely by accident. Continuity is wobbly at best. (Chuck Cunningham, anyone?) Serialization is not really a priority here, except for the occasional two-parter or three-parter. Generally, Happy Days is meant to be enjoyed in individual, half-hour chunks. The episodes are self-contained. You don't really have to watch them in any particular order. ABC often showed them out of production order.

Let us consider the the fraught emotional background of the show's (eventual) main character, Arthur "Fonzie" Fonzarelli (Henry Winkler). Over the course of several seasons, we ultimately learn that Fonzie was abandoned by both his mother and his father at an early age and was basically raised by his grandmother. But the details of this story keep shifting around, as if the writers never found a version that suited them. 

So why was this "orphan" element added to the character in the first place? I think it was to make him more sympathetic. Fonzie is depicted on Happy Days as being a more-or-less invulnerable tough guy with quasi-supernatural powers, so this tragic backstory gives him some much-needed vulnerability. He's a tough guy, sure, but he has some weaknesses, too.

A crucial episode in the series is "Mother and Child Reunion" from Season 8. As the title suggests, Fonzie meets his long-lost mother Angela (showbiz veteran Janis Paige), now a world-weary waitress at a disreputable diner. He doesn't set out to meet Angela; it just sort of happens by chance. And Angela might not even be Fonzie's mom. The script leaves this open to interpretation. And even this story is self-contained: Angela is never seen or heard from again.

So what did we think of "Mother and Child Reunion"? Find out by downloading the latest installment of These Days are Ours: A Happy Days Podcast.

Podcast Tuesday: "Richie Doesn't Die Because, I Mean, Come On"

Henry Winkler sits by Ron Howard's bedside on Happy Days.

Garry Marshall, unashamed populist.

Garry Marshall is generally thought of -- and correctly so -- as a populist. His TV shows and movies were aimed squarely at the mainstream with little thought of critical accolades or industry awards. As I've learned by perusing old newspaper articles from the '70s and '80s, Happy Days and especially Laverne & Shirley did not get a lot of glowing reviews from the press. At best, they were considered mindless but harmless fluff. At worst, they were cited as examples of America's declining IQ. The critical reaction to Laverne could be outright hostile at times. Marshall's high Nielsen ratings hopefully offered some consolation.

It's important to remember, though, that Garry Marshall had once labored on the other side of the critical tracks, so to speak. One of his first big breaks, for instance, came from writing on The Dick Van Dyke Show, a smart situation comedy that received critical accolades and Emmy awards. Marshall's subsequent series, The Odd Couple, was likewise lauded, and Marshall has said that he very much liked working on such prestigious, respectable shows. But Happy Days was never going to be all that respectable. It's not the type of show you watch so you can brag about it the next day at work and sound clever at the water cooler. It's light, breezy entertainment and little more.

Most of the time, that is.

We all know of the phenomenon of "very special episodes." These are sitcom episodes -- often maudlin and heavy-handed in nature -- that tackle more serious storylines or heavy social issues. "Very special episodes" are widely mocked and derided today for their cornball stories and over-the-top preaching. Why do these shows exist and why were they so beloved by the producers of frivolous comedies in the '70s, '80s, and '90s? I think it's because the producers of these shows know deep down that they're not making Great Art, but they secretly long to do something a bit more substantial and classy, even important. So we get occasional downer episodes of Full House or Growing Pains.

Garry Marshall was not immune to the allure of "very special episodes." This week on These Days Are Ours: A Happy Days Podcast, we're covering a famous example of the phenomenon: Season 5's "Richie Almost Dies." What did we think of it? Listen and find out.