By Heathen
A glossy copy of Imagine magazine fills the screen, and the camera slowly backs out to show the gawky teen holding it: a skinny, dark-haired boy teetering between eternal geekdom and finding the stud within. He's the kind of sweet nerd everyone either personified on the outside or let dwell underneath -- someone caught between longing to be someone bigger, projecting the façade of certainty that he already is, and utterly unsure how to reconcile that with his core dork. He is our protagonist; he is Steve. Trying to be cool, his nervous energy bubbling dangerously close to the surface, Steve points in a pseudo-macho way to Matthew Perry's spiky haircut and announces that he wants that look. The hairdresser obliges, and as he does, Steve speaks to his longtime high-school buddy, who watches with eyes like saucers as his pal tries to transform himself into something older and edgier. "I grew seven inches senior year," Steve says, holding his hand near his chin. "Everything from here up is all new." The hairdresser has the good grace to remain impassive during this bit of overzealous insight. "Sixty percent of all people meet their future spouses at college," Steve continues, sounding like way too many of the freshman guys I met at college, who were dead set on graduating in four years with a fiancée. And people joke that women are just there to get an M.R.S.
The scene swiftly changes to Steve's room. "My future wife could be seated right beside me," he continues excitedly as his pal that we'll call Walter -- he just looks like a Walter -- stares with a mixture of confusion and awe and envy. "You...and a girl?" Walter asks, as though Steve hooking up is a feat less probable than his climbing Everest atop a dolphin during the winter would be. That aside, I sort of get the impression that Steve is like Farmer Ted in Sixteen Candles -- he's the King of the Geeks, and his loyalists erroneously believe that he's a bridge between the In Crowd and the decidedly less elite. Walter is wearing a Snood t-shirt, which worries me because he's supposed to be a nerd and I love Snood and paid for it even though it's available for free. But I don't have a t-shirt, so I suppose I can cling to the illusion that I'm cool. Steve, by the way, is doing an excellent job at the latter. He's trying to be nonchalant while working his scrawny arms on a small exercise machine, and what we see of his biceps suggests less Schwarzenegger -- hell, less Seinfeld, even -- than Sally from Peanuts. He is lifting so energetically that the center panel on this bizarre machine -- he's standing on it, yanking upward on weighted cords -- jerks upward dangerously. On almost any other sitcom, that bar would be headed straight for a collision course with Steve's crotch. Fortunately, this show isn't that obvious. Earnestly, Steve explains through his panting -- hey, he's lifting weights, after all -- that people in college won't know him, so that means his young image is tabula rasa. Walter vigorously agrees: "Yeah, they don't know that you threw up on the bus in sixth grade, or had to have your finger reattached after that wood shop...." Steve sort of interrupts his friend here, probably not interested in revisiting the chronicle of his past humiliations. "Point is, I'm tall, and handsome, and I've gained weight and, like, finally got a fashion sense...it's like the beginning of a whole new era!" Steve proclaims, a wild daily affirmation of sorts that should end with "and doggone it, people like me!" Walter is dubious, unsure that a new haircut and some height will translate into a giant aura of hip. Steve, however, is certain he is New Steve. To prove it, he yanks his X-Files poster off the wall and tears it into messy quarters, nodding with in-your-face bravado. "Dude, what the hell are you doing?" screams Walter. "I would have taken that!" This jolts New Steve out of his trance, and he stares at the debris with a level of dismay only Old Steve should feel. After a beat, he panics, "Oh God, oh God...."
The credits tell us that Steven Karp, our hero, will attend the University of North Eastern California. As someone in the forums pointed out, the acronym "UNEC" sounds a lot like "eunuch." Unless Judd Apatow is deep into symbolism and thinks that college emasculates a man, I think he's got a pretty wicked sense of humor.
Steve stands in his yard, pensive. "Nice fancy haircut," a man says, too loudly. "You should join those Backstreet Boys. Watch out for the ladies!" The man is Steve's father, Hal, and it's immediately apparent that the geek gene is dominant in the Karp DNA. Hal wears glasses and has thinning light-colored hair and teeth that are too prominent in his mouth. He moves through life under the illusion that he's a studmuffin; he's so painfully awkward that he feels like some kind of Jim Carrey caricature of a fatally uncool parent. Steve irritatedly denies that his haircut is remotely like the Backstreet Boys' style. Hal then starts up with, "Goin' to college...you gonna work for me? Gonna work?" Steve groans a "yes." "I like your hair," Hal says. "Watch out, ladies!" Then he admits that he was lying just to sound supportive, and waves with false cheer when Steve departs by car.
Steve exits a dorm elevator into a large common-room area that's jammed with people. Students and parents lug their things through the narrow halls, shouting and joking with each other. Staring for a second, Steve narrows his eyes and sets his face into what he imagines is a deeply cool smile, literally strutting through the hall and rocking his head to whatever rap he's hearing. Jay Baruchel is definitely the Anthony Michael Hall of the new millennium. Two guys in their room look like they think they're in a mosh pit; across the hall, a girl screams, "Mom, will you just wake up Grandma and leave already?"
A pretty blonde girl appears . She's Rachel, played by Monica Keena of Dawson's Creek. She wrings her hands and informs her R.A. that she's just feeling a bit of anxiety about all this. A hippie Steve Zahn type, the R.A. gushes something to the effect that, dude, that's, like, why she needs a resident advisor, dude. He then reminisces as to how similar Rachel is to a girl from last year who had the same problem. "Oh, and she's doing good?" Rachel asks, a glimmer of relief in her eyes. The R.A. carefully says, "She's much happier where she is now." Rachel's face falls, saddened by the predictability of that joke in an otherwise promising start to the show. Suddenly, a shriek: brunette, six o'clock, incoming. "I'm Lizzie!" she shrieks, hugging Rachel tightly and practically jumping up and down with we've-got-spirit- yes-we-do enthusiasm -- the kind of stuff that resulted in my immediate divorce from most dorm activities. "This is gonna be so much FUN!" Lizzie screams into Rachel's ear. Rachel looks petrified, aware that she's entering into something very bizarre with someone who, by all indications, might be a very trying drunk indeed.
Steve passes Lizzie and Rachel with interest, but continues on toward his own room. Seth Rogen from Freaks & Geeks sits there on a couch, guzzling beer (one assumes) with a scruffy-looking blond the writers call Marshall, but who I think looks a lot more like Shaggy from Scooby Doo. Seth Rogen's Ron is mouthing off that amps are irrelevant now -- it's wattage that counts. Yeah! Sing it, Ron. Spread the gospel. Now, if only we can get the media to cooperate. Steve interrupts them with a "hello," and when he says he's the new roommate, Shaggy and Ron shout with glee and say, "That's us both!" and chug. Steve curiously and nervously asks what they're playing. "We can't tell you the rules because then we couldn't play anymore," Ron calmly informs him. Oh, this is my favorite game -- the one with no point and few rules. Seriously, we used to play this. I once made my roommate drink by pretending she'd picked up my favorite fork. Hey, there's not much to do in South Bend, okay? We had to make our own fun, or something as close as possible. Anyway, Ron then silences everyone and asks Steve, "How tall would you say you are right now?" Steve considers this, weighing the new haircut versus spinal wear-and-tear from the walk inside, carries the three, and answers, "Six-one," but with great uncertainty because he might've forgotten to factor in the coefficient of friction. Shaggy groans loudly as Ron taunts him. "You're killing me!" Shaggy gleefully shouts as he drinks. "Thank you, Steven," Ron laughs, then tells Shaggy, "Man, you are terrible at this!"
Rachel confides to Lizzie that she thinks it's scary being away from home. Lizzie is busy putting up photos of her boyfriend, all gathered around one giant, central photo that anchors this makeshift shrine. That is such a bad sign. "I've never lived with anyone before, but if we stick together, we'll be fine," Rachel says. Lizzie's phone rings at that instant, and she excuses herself to answer it. Her boyfriend is on the line. "Hi baaaaaby," she coos in a whiny, much softer tone. Romeo tells her that he's just pulling out of the parking lot and is starting to cry about leaving her there. "Ohh, baaaaby," moans Lizzie sympathetically. Romeo chokes that he loves her and "can't wait until [he] can make love to [her] again." Lizzie blushes. "Eric, my roommate's here!" she whispers, as though Rachel can somehow hear these sweet nothings. "I know, but if I can't say those things to you, I'll die!" Eric sniffles. He wants her to have fun; Lizzie moans again and then promises to call him in fifteen minutes. Rachel looks like she either wants to vomit or throw something very, very heavy. She knows she's trapped in a tidal wave of teen trauma.
Steve, Heath, Ron, and Shaggy are in an elevator, and a girl stands in front of them. They nudge each other exaggeratedly, trying to get Steve to hand the girl a flyer about the party, but he shyly crosses his arms and locks into the position. The girl gets out before anyone approaches her. "That was embarrassing," Heath says. The guys all agree.
Shaggy trails behind as Steve approaches a brunette in a red outfit, informing her of the party. "Oh, I'm a senior," she says dismissively. Steve is oblivious. "That's cool," he tells her. She stops and turns slightly. "No, sweetie, that means I'm not coming to your party," she says. This floors Steve; Shaggy admits, with expected levels of profundity, "That sucked." What follows is a montage of the four roommates scouting party guests. One guy approaches Ron, desperate to deejay the shindig. "I spin, and man, you have never heard it," raves D.J. "It's like straight East-Coast thug hip-hop, and Brit pop." I think Jacob from O-Town wants to inhabit that space, too. D.J. launches into a goofy rap, then softly sings, "Ain't no sunshine in a castle on a Sunday..." and then raps, "I'm a predator, you're my prey!" I can't do his performance justice, really. Ron just stares at him, mystified by this odd creature, and probably thinking that if Shaggy were there, he'd have had to drink for that. Shaggy is busy with a girl who recites, "I've got Jesus, yes I do; I've got Jesus, how about you?" Shaggy considers this. Move along, Shaggy. Actually, people in the forums have debated a bit about whether this segment is offensive to Christians; when I saw it, I laughed, and I was raised Catholic. Part of it is because the girl is so totally vapid about what she's saying -- it's like she's at a pep rally for Christ. And Shaggy is not the type to get excited about anything that doesn't come in a keg or have breasts. Or both, in some strange world where the DNA double helix is dipped in beer. Basically, I don't think it's mocking religious people so much as it's showing two people who are humorously different, neither one good or bad. Shaggy decides on a different approach: he feigns injury, and when women stop to see whether he's okay, he passes them a flyer.
Steve enters his room, followed by Hal, and catches Heath making out with the Asian lass. He apologizes, pointing to the naked doorknob, but Heath lies that they were only talking. "Electric Avenue" comes on the radio; D.J. Jazzy Slim must've taken a break. Heath and his lady friend make a lame attempt at a suave exit. Hal turns to Steve and breaks the news that there's going to be a divorce, and that it's not his idea. Steve blinks hard, and gulps. Hal shrugs defiantly. "What is that, huh?" he says. "Ridiculous." Hal apparently doesn't use mirrors. Or his own ears.
Lizzie, dressed for the party, is squabbling with her boyfriend. She defends going to the party, citing it as a normal college activity, especially on her first night there. Eric counters that it's normal for him to feel weird about it. "If I went out to a party with Alicia from color-copying, you wouldn't feel threatened?" he argues. Well, it's not called Kinko's for nothing, I suppose. "All of a sudden you're going out to a party and I'm supposed to not feel threatened?" Eric continues bitterly. ["This is where I recognized Eric's voice as belonging to Jason Segel, who played the similarly clingy Nick on Freaks and Geeks." -- Wing Chun] Lizzie argues that this shindig is a fact of college life, and he replies, "Ooh, now I don't know what college is like? You're the expert on college? I tried to go to college four times!" Lizzie rolls her eyes and looks frustrated. This part, the writers have gotten just right. I know so many people who showed up to school with what we called "hometown honeys," and most of them spent their first few nights crying into a peanut-butter jar. Or maybe they were crying, and I was into the peanut-butter jar -- it's all a bit hazy, really.
Steve asks Hal what happened with the marriage. "I dunno. She said she's miserable, she doesn't want to have sex, she feels dead inside, life is passing her by...I don't know," Hal answers flippantly, convinced that his wife is a loon of great magnitude. Steve looks sickened. "I don't want to talk about this," he complains. "I'm in the middle of a party. This is my first day at school!" Hal bristles and barks, "I've given my entire life to you, so if I need to talk to you, you're gonna listen." Steve apologizes. There's an awkward pause, and then Steve does the most brilliant thing he could have, under the circumstances: He asks for gritty details. "So why do you think mom feels dead inside?" he asks. Hal shrugs. "Um, has she said why she doesn't want to have sex with you?" Steve quizzes, clearly hating the way the words taste in his mouth and imagining rubbing alcohol would be more pleasant. Hal cocks his head and regards Steve for a second before standing up and saying, "You know what? You're right, this is not the time." Hal exits, promising to sleep at Uncle Bill's place. They part company without much fanfare. "Have fun at Uncle Bill's," Steve offers half-heartedly.
Hal stands by the elevator, agitated. Ron approaches and encourages him to join the party; Hal is initially reluctant. "What, will your wife get mad if you come home late?" Ron jokes. Hal halts. "Where's the keg?" he asks. Ron is thrilled. "I bet you could drink a ton of beer," he says, in total man-to-man mode. Hal's expression is grim, his jaw is set. He is a man resolved, bent on boozy oblivion. "I could today," he says through gritted teeth.
We come up again on dancing, with D.J. doing The Robot in his makeshift booth. Hal is playing Drinking Ping Pong against Ron -- along one side of the table, each man has a line of plastic cups with different servings of beer and probably hard liquor poured inside. They start a rally, and Ron hits the ball into one of Hal's cups; the older man cheers his loss and chugs the contents. God, I miss college. Steve is in seclusion, sitting on his bed crying.
Lizzie's nightmare conversation of circular boyfriend logic continues. Eric says that it's normal for her to feel alone right now. She protests that she's not feeling that way at all. "Maybe we should break up," Eric suggests belligerently. "Maybe we didn't think hard enough about that." Lizzie, calling his bluff but also very irritated, agrees with him. "Well, maybe we should," she says. Eric fumes, "Now you want to break up?" Oy. Lizzie sputters that he started all this, but Eric's really on a roll now, committing spectacular feats of lunacy. "Now you want to break up? You went to college for one hour and now you want to break up?" he seethes. Lizzie can't get a word in, so instead we cut to a shot of Eric's photo. Honey, he is not worth the trouble. He looks thirty, he's got longish hippie hair that's thinning on the top, and he looks like a walking vat of oil. Lizzie is affronted by Eric's behavior; I am affronted by his appearance.
Outside, Lucien the R.A. counsels Rachel while Shaggy listens bemusedly. Lucien soothingly says that it's completely standard for her to feel fear. "Hey, I've been here six years and I'm still scared!" he offers cheerfully. Shaggy does a funny double take. Lucien confesses that he wrote a poem about his job that he thinks might help bring clarity to Rachel's reeling mind. The poem is:
If you enter my room full of tears,
My hope is that you will leave with a smile.
If you enter my room glowing with love,
My hope is to share in your love.
So when you're feeling low, just knock on my door and say, [he sing-songs] "Hello!"
Shaggy is freaked by the poem; neither he nor Rachel can bite back laughter any longer and giggle loudly at Lucien. He politely says it's working -- that she's feeling better -- but he's definitely hurt that his ode met with more derision than awe. He should take heart, though -- Jewel's never written anything better, and she's a published "poet."
Lizzie, cloaked in anger, storms into the hallway and barges into Steve's room looking for Rachel. Since they haven't yet met, she isn't there. When Lizzie notices Steve's tears, she asks after his mental state. "I'm just...like...really excited to be here," he weeps. "I'm just so happy." Lizzie is amazed. "We're finally on our own now. It's a whole new era," Steve continues, wiping his tears and sniffling deeply. "I know what you mean!" she chirps, sitting down on his bed, mesmerized. "No one can control us or tell us what to do!"
"Yabba-dabba-do!" Hal slurs, slumped on a bench with Ron. "I'm in the dating pool now." I'll wager he's not a strong swimmer. He'll need Floaties. "I'm out there looking for a hot young chick," Hal booms. "Susie Zeta-Jones, Catherine's sister -- the hotter, younger one." Ron eggs him on, toasting each assertion and backing it with supportive stuff like, "Much younger!" and "Yeah!" Ron deadpans that Hal is a very desirable man. Ron is officially blind drunk.
Lizzie and Steve are still turning shared misery into false enthusiasm. "From now on, we have total freedom, and now is the time in our lives when we're supposed to experience everything!" Lizzie says, astounded by her own insight. Steve matches her wonderment. "Exactly! I can stay up 'til 11 now!" he announces. Is he a freshman in high school or college? Sheesh. Lizzie whips herself into a frenzy over the freedom to pierce her body at will. Steve rhapsodizes about eating candy all day and watching TV at any hour. As they list these dreams of liberty, they make progressively more eye contact. Lizzie, giggly and giddy, suddenly suggests that they have sex just for the fun of it. Steve, clearly thrown, tries to gloss over his abject shock with a look resembling intrigue, but a close-up on his eyes betrays an erection so obvious the Russians can see it. "Do you have a condom?" she asks. "I have eight condoms!" exclaims Steve, a little too quickly. Eight? That's a tad optimistic. No matter; by tomorrow, he'll have lucky seven. Lizzie lunges for him and attacks his lips, and Steve slowly reaches around to embrace her during their wooden smooch.
Slowly, Hal and Ron pull up their shirts and stare at the fleshy, hairy expanse rippling underneath. They own the same potbelly. "I have the gut of an eighteen-year-old," says a delighted Hal. Ron is more alarmed: "I have the gut of a forty-eight-year-old," he moans. Hal, seized by his newfound discovery of a youthful beer gut, asserts that his wife's complaints are pathetic. "It's not the size of the gut, Hal," says Heath, grimacing. "It's what the gut represents." He suggests that Hal's wife just wants to live a little after raising the kids. Hal contends that women don't appreciate men. "Oh, so sorry I worked and supported you for twenty years," Hal says sarcastically. "Oh, I should have been learning to salsa dance, so you wouldn't feel dead inside!" He's such a schlub. I feel dead inside just looking at him. Ron lets out a here-here type cheer, but Heath isn't convinced and wonders aloud why the hell Hal didn't ever learn to salsa dance. Perhaps he can't see that Hal has enough trouble walking with grace; I'm not confident in his ability to shake his bon-bon without catastrophe. He'd throw out his hip. Ron points out that Hal was clearly working for a living instead of doing the cha-cha. Apparently, that includes the literal and the euphemistic meanings. Hal drunkenly blurts that he didn't want to learn the damn salsa dancing. "I'm sure she didn't want to cook your dinner every night for twenty years and sacrifice her life to raise your kids, but she still did it, didn't she?" Heath argues. Hal should, by all logic, be shoving Heath's jousting stick someplace very ill-fitting, but he's far too milquetoast. He's the soggiest thing I've ever seen. Ron even admits that Heath makes good sense. Hal feels betrayed. "Are you saying I'm wrong?" he asks, shocked. Ron replies, "No, you're not wrong, Hal. You're just maybe less than right." Hal stars mulishly into space for a second, then crosses his arms petulantly. "Oh crap," he says. Heh. Sagacious Heath tells Hal it's never too late to start over again, and tells him to call his wife.
Steve and Lizzie are kissing on his bed. We check out a few Crest-perfect family photos on the bureau and then some Spinal Tap action figures, one of whom wears a shocked expression because no one knew this geek could go up to eleven. As Lizzie fumbles with his shirt, Steve does the most adorable thing -- he leans down and tries to unbuckle her shoes with the minimum lip-breakage possible. This kid must be terrified of The Bra. He's absolutely fixated on the buckle and it takes several tries before he gingerly removes the shoe. Outside, Shaggy, Ron, and Heath stare silently, impassively, at a doorknob adorned with a blue scrunchie. "There's a scrunchie on the door," Heath observes cleverly. "And I'm not in there." No one knows what to say. Finally, Heath plumbs the depths of his soul and comes up with a reaction that aptly captures the moment: "Wow." And so the geek gets the girl, which can mean only one thing: certain doom, and a painful one at that.
The sun casts a golden hue on sleeping Steve's angelic geek countenance. He slowly wakes up, rolls over, and nuzzles the foot that's where Lizzie's face should be. Startled, he opens his eyes and peers at the foot's owner: Hal, passed out with a silly grin and some killer graffiti on his face, such as "Steve's Dad!" and something resembling stitches. It makes him look so badass! Except...no.
Rachel stares agape at Lizzie, who is curled up in bed like a child begging Mom for chicken soup and a sick day. "Steven?!?" Rachel chokes. "That skinny guy?" Lizzie sniffles, "I have a boyfriend!" Rachel cracks up and says, "Lizzie, I totally misjudged you." And we all have a good laugh, too, because it's way more fun to live with an angsty skank than a perky, faithful person. Close call, there, Rach. Lizzie poutily peers up at Rachel and asks whether she's a bad person because of this. Rachel shakes her head, still laughing.
Steve and Hal -- the latter's face still a masterpiece -- trot through the dorm hallway looking like very fat cats indeed. Hal high-fives Ron, who watches them leave and then asks Shaggy why the hell he drew on Hal's face. Shaggy replies with naught but a stupid smile. Lizzie and Rachel appear, take one look at Steve, and start speedwalking, huddling together, whispering, and pretending to hide. "Hi, Lizzie," Steve says huskily. She mumbles a reply. "Who's that?" Hal asks. "My future girlfriend," Steve confidently replies, a renewed sense of funk to his step. "Whoa, man," drawls Hal. "You got this place wired already!" Steve nods coolly and replies, "Tell me something I don't know."
And we're done! A promising start. This is so much more pleasant than any other show I've recapped for MBTV; Tuesdays are looking like a gift for me now. A gift from the goddess Wing Chun. ["Aw. Well, Judd Apatow had something to do with it, too." -- Wing Chun] See you week.