Seinfeld: Perfect Reception
Written by Andreas Babiolakis
This is an entry in our Perfect Reception series. Submit your favourite television series for review here!
“A show about nothing.”
Despite this often-spouted proclamation whenever people discuss the genius being Seinfeld, the history behind said sitcom contradicts how nonchalant this claim makes the show feel. Seinfeld wasn’t just a show about complete nothingness. If anything, it’s actually about everything; particularly the small little details of how stupid the human experience can be that every other series before ignored. Who cared about the qualms of someone stealing your parking space, overbuying from a discount grocery store, or having to buy socks for your employer? No other show — especially not situation comedies — prioritized the minutiae of life on full blast, as if these were major turning points of the lives featured here.
Except they weren’t. None of the main characters ever learned from their mistakes, and there weren’t any lessons for us to take any morals away from, either. We weren’t looked down upon by a bunch of comedy writers that assumed that they knew better than the rest of the world. Instead, the smaller curiosities, annoyances, and oddities of life were just explained in such a way that everyone could identify with Seinfeld. The unfurling of the show’s nine seasons actually makes perfect sense in the grand scheme of things, considering that a retrospective look highlights the purely-natural response to the series over time. It wasn’t an immediate success by any means. We have to go back to the start in order to understand more.
Larry David was a struggling comedian that worked a series of jobs across New York City. He would eventually pick up work with the short-lived live comedy show Fridays, which was his foray into a little-known show called Saturday Night Live. Working on the sketch comedy series wasn’t easy sailing, as David would furiously quit from the show during his first season there. Of course, he famously would show up on Monday morning, as if nothing had happened, and he actually kept working at Saturday Night Live. It’s obvious trivia now, but this was so indicative of who Larry David was as a person: a guy who played by his own rules. It’s as if he had the master key to get through any of society’s unwritten rules, and that he could do virtually anything that he wanted at any given time.
This was especially important concerning who he would team up with: a young comedian on the rise, by the name of Jerry Seinfeld. Seinfeld was known for his observational humour, especially his typically wholesome, non-blue approach. He didn’t need to shock anyone. He knew that speaking all of our languages at the same time was enough to draw us in. NBC was looking for its next big series when Seinfeld and David teamed up to make The Seinfeld Chronicles. It was common for comics to get their own sitcoms, particularly ones named after them, that would act as vessels for their latest material. It seemed like gold (Jerry, gold!) that Jerry Seinfeld would have his own series after his numerous talk show appearances, especially since he would be playing a hyperbolic version of himself: a comedian who draws in big crowds, thanks to his relatable comedy. However, Larry David was the yang to Jerry Seinfeld’s yin. If Seinfeld was commenting on the things that made us all human, then David was shredding these similarities apart, breaking the hidden convention of being a part of civilization.
In order to get this idea going, the perfect cast of characters (and the characters to play this cast) would be needed. From David’s SNL days, he found Michael Richards — known for his buffoonery and slapstick — and a then-overlooked actress named Julia Louis-Dreyfus. Jason Alexander had done a number of commercials before the sitcom, so he was also an easy grab for the series. Naturally, Seinfeld played himself, so that spot was the easiest to fill. In return, he wouldn’t have to do too much research to reenact his own mannerisms and quirks. Alexander would play George Costanza, who was essentially a characterization of Larry David himself (Alexander thought George was meant to be a Woody Allen clone at first, hence his starkly different characterization earlier in the series). Richards was named Kessler, but was based on David’s real neighbour from across the hall: Kenny Kramer. Shortly after the pilot episode was made, Kramer granted NBC the right to use his name, and the character swiftly became his namesake (but just Kramer: there was no first name [for now]). Louis-Dreyfus was actually not a part of the initial project; a waitress by the name of Claire (played by Lee Garlington) was meant to be the female character; she worked at Pete’s Luncheonette. NBC didn’t think this role was good enough, and a more prominent female character was to replace Claire. Enter Elaine Benes, as well as Monk’s Cafe to replace Pete’s (a cafe which would become a character of its own).
For the first season, Seinfeld didn’t really do too well, outside of its small following. Seinfeld would start each episode off with a stand up routine, reminding us that these following events are the origins of the jokes that make audiences laugh. Season one was a measly five episodes, so season two would tell us much more. All that we did know was that Seinfeld was a successful comedian, Kramer was some sort of a weird neighbour of his, Elaine was a former lover who has remained friends with him, and George is his best friend (who also works in real estate). Season two is when the show slightly came into its own a bit more. Seinfeld would break up with a woman because he cannot fathom why she likes a Cotton Dockers commercial. The gang would not be able to get into a Chinese restaurant because of their individual obstacles during their wait for their table. Then, there’s George Costanza angrily quitting his job in real estate, exactly like Larry David did in real life (only George, as we know, wouldn’t get his job back, despite some brief glimpses of hope that he would quickly squander). Still, the audience for the show was puny, and it just didn’t matter when series like Cheers had paved the way for sitcoms at that point.
Enter season three: like season two, but even better. Still a small crowd, but a focus on their active viewing participation was to be rewarded. The observations got sillier, ranging from the irritation of losing your car in a parking garage, to the desire to have your spare keys returned after visiting privileges have been abused (of course it was Kramer that was at fault here). Something like “The Subway” connected all viewers, who had suffered the life of being a commuter, whilst adding some additional plot threads that went really out there (particularly George’s). On that note, other storylines began to feel a little more Larry David than just Jerry Seinfeld’s observations, including “The Limo”, where George and Jerry pretend to be the passengers of an awaiting limo driver’s ride, only to be brought to a white supremacist rally (with George as the supposed leader, ready to give a speech). As well, it wasn’t just David’s life that was the inspiration for episodes. Writers were inputting their own personal experiences, including Greg Daniels’ recollection of his father fighting over a parking space.
Enter season four. At this point, Seinfeld, David, and company, decided to write entirely for themselves and the tiny audience they had. And so began the golden years of Seinfeld, organically. We kick things off with Seinfeld and George (remember, he’s meant to be Larry David) trying to pitch a pilot episode to NBC; sound familiar? The season-long theme of this sitcom-within-a-sitcom trying to get off the ground was the kind of meta comedy that got people talking, especially since this particular storyline was serialized. What was going to happen next? By this point, the small amount of fans were finally being heard by their buddies, but that also meant that the episodic strangeness or relatability was being heard as well. It wasn’t just about the NBC storyline; what was going to happen amongst the friends themselves? We were seeing how George was ruining the life of his lover Susan (George had been dying to be loved this entire series, but was wanting to find someone else as soon as he got a life partner). Kramer and Elaine were dealing with their own issues each episode. Things were typically Seinfeld, but the cast and crew began to really click, and they were at the height of their game.
Enter “The Contest”: one of the most daring episodes of television for its time. In the middle of season four, we got another slice of Larry David’s life: a TV-friendly retelling of a contest he had with his friends to see who could hold out on masturbating for the longest. It was something that just couldn’t be put on the small tube (hence the many now-iconic works-around, like asking someone if they’re the “master of their domain”), and yet here we were. At this point, the show became the one that had to be discussed, because people needed to ask “did you see the Seinfeld episode where the four leads have a competition to see who can hold out?”. Maybe it was the shock factor that people didn’t want to miss again (even tough David, who won an Emmy for this episode, and his team are insanely clever with how they danced around the topic). Instead, new viewers began to see this series and finally understand why this random sitcom was still on the air. Within the season, George pitches the sitcom — to be named Jerry — as “a show about nothing”, hence where the series’ legacy was cemented. Maybe this was David and company mocking themselves, but pop culture has identified with this celebration of the menial ever since. All it took was a head turner like “The Contest”. Naturally, Seinfeld would win its only Emmy for “Best Comedy Series” this very season.
Seasons five and six were further extensions of what made four so good, and this hidden secret was finally the number one comedic show on television (by far). By now, the series was a blend of David and Seinfeld’s different universes, and audiences were eating up both the common ground and the fearless shattering of the norm. Thanks to the concept of the rerun, previous episodes were also being caught up on. All in all, the series began to churn out catch phrase after catchphrase; while it didn’t necessarily start with “master of your domain”, you’ll find that the even better quotes would come as a result of this overnight success. These catchphrases are the results of genius writing: the ability to summarize the ridiculousness of civilization within one sentence (“You know we’re living in a society!”), or understated hilarity that not even a laugh track could fully give justice to (when Jerry squawks “I’m not driving him to the airport!”). We were getting very familiar with each character, because the performers also were understanding them while we were. Kramer was eventually Cosmo Kramer (the cat was let out of the bag on that one): the klutz that just somehow could befriend everyone. Elaine was the most well-put together of the gang, but she still crumbled underneath her own jealousies, snippiness, and ill will. George was full-blown David by now. Seinfeld was an even bigger satire of his own self, down to the limited amount of standup sets he would get (thanks to the failed routine because of the pilot sitting in the audience, or Jerry being heckled by a friend of Kramer’s, and other numerous mishaps).
By season seven, Larry David was satisfied with where he went with the series, and wanted to leave as one of the primary writers and figureheads (although he did shine as the voice of Yankee owner George Steinbrenner, even during season eight). This was all Jerry Seinfeld’s now (As well as the tight team that was amassed). Oddly enough, Jerry Seinfeld as a comedian within the show was now extremely limited, as if his entire career was suffering now (characters even ask if he is struggling for money), and yet it was the Seinfeld years that his own sitcom went extremely crazy. Some of the weirdest storylines happen in the final two seasons, and they’re not everyone’s cup of tea. I personally love some of these episodes, particularly when Kramer turns his apartment into the set of The Merv Griffin Show. Then, there are bold risks that maybe didn’t work with everyone, including “The Betrayal”, which is played entirely in reverse chronology (although we do get a hilarious explanation as to why Kramer is called “Kessler” in the pilot episode, and why this overbearing neighbour continuously abuses Seinfeld’s food supplies).
All of this boils down to the now infamous finale. Again, throughout this entire series, the characters never grow, nor do they wish to be better people. This was known as “no hugging, no learning”, which spat on shows like Home Improvement and Full House at the time. It was common, however, for series to have clip show episodes, and Seinfeld wasn’t the exception, here. The finale was meant to put a spin on this concept, whilst finally providing a bit of a narrative enhancement to these characters, of whom were frozen in their own despicable behaviours. The fab four would be arrested for doing nothing during the middle of a robbery, and a parade of returning characters from previous episodes — all testifying against the leads — would be the nostalgic comfort that felt necessary in such a finale. Ultimately, Seinfeld, George, Kramer, and Elaine all get sent to jail for a year, and Seinfeld finally finds standup work again in prison (although he doesn’t really do well here). Such a dark episode infuriated some audiences, while others felt like the comeuppance of these characters was due at any minute.
Really, we get the reminder of these side characters, which Seinfeld took major pride in developing. Some would have only one episode (or single scenes) to shine, like The Soup Nazi, Duncan Meyer, or Keith Hernandez (as himself). Some of these minor characters would get a few more chances to become a part of Seinfeld lore, like Kenny Bania or lawyer Jackie Chiles. Next would be the various parents and bosses of the characters, of whom would be a pain-in-the-side of these protagonists (particularly George’s parents, or Elaine’s various employers); they would be comedic gold for viewers. Finally, there was a certain postal worker (“Newman!”) that was the best friend of Kramer, the worst enemy of Seinfeld, an adorer of Elaine, and barely a blip on George’s radar; he would be the side character of all side characters. This was all possible thanks to the many brilliant lines that would be saved for these supporting roles, when other series would typically harbour them all for the lead characters. Life wasn’t just about all of the small things that unite us amidst four characters; it was about facing all of these events from those who would actually be there for them.
The rest, as they say, is history. Seinfeld would go down as one of the most successful series of all time. Its relatability predated meme culture, which prepared it nicely for many shareable images and clips in today’s social media age. All of the catch phrases (“shrinkage”, “not that there’s anything wrong with it”, “no soup for you”, amidst many others) are now permanent fixtures of society, even if you weren’t old enough to hear them during the ‘90s. Many shows have tried to follow suit: the more casual and warm Friends, the incredibly dark It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, and numerous more. Then there’s Curb Your Enthusiasm, which is Larry David’s post-Seinfeld series, which is effectively the same series but even more raw and crazy (welcome to the then-rising HBO); Curb is still on television, and is returning next month with a new season. It was also David’s way of righting the wrong of the Seinfeld finale (which he returned to write), particularly the season where he creates a new Seinfeld special episode.
As for modern day success, Seinfeld is coming to Netflix now, after being accessible on other platforms previously (part of the reason why I covered it this month, aside from the votes I got to cover it, of course); its following will now never leave. Twenty four hour streaming sites of the series keep popping up (and being taken down). A Lego set of Seinfeld’s apartment is now available (I’m happy to say I’ve bought and assembled mine). If anything, social media has tried to theorize what Seinfeld today would be like, especially with today’s tech-based society. Would George try to use a Snapchat filter to give himself hair to appeal to women on OKCupid? Would Elaine have to work for a crappy influencer company, trying to appeal to youths she doesn’t care for? Would Seinfeld try the web series game? Could Kramer permanently change Gen-Z with his own online antics?
We’ll never know, but there is comfort in pretending that we could know. That’s how well written these mischievous misfits are. That’s how relatable the series was. There would always be storylines, instances, and scenarios that these characters could partake in. Larry David knew this. Jerry Seinfeld knew it, too. The point is David quit when he was finished doing this series. Seinfeld wrapped up when he was at his prime. Seinfeld could have been beaten into the ground, but that’s the one piece of common ground that the co-creators didn’t want to identify with. As a result, Seinfeld is a rare sitcom where not a single episode is a throwaway (outside of those clip show compilations, of course). Every streaming service, website, or television time slot is a welcome opportunity to revisit this bizarre map of New York City and all of its insane inhabitants. Seinfeld was a show about nothing, and yet it became everything to many of us, down to the cores of our identities. We all know a Kramer. We’re all dealt with a Newman. We’re afraid we’re secretly George. Seinfeld is all of us, and it takes us differing amounts of times to figure this out (and thusly become addicted to arguably the finest sitcom of all time).
Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Ryerson University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.