There was absolutely nothing hip about “Everybody Loves Raymond.”
No talking to the camera or “jump- cut” editing as in “Malcolm in the Middle.” No hot singles’ sexual antics as in “Friends,” no smart movie references as in “Dream On,” no ad-libbing as in “Curb Your Enthusiasm.”
“Raymond” was about something, unlike “Seinfeld.” And in contrast to “Cheers” and “Frasier,” it didn’t drag on beyond its natural shelf life.
When the good old-fashioned domestic situation comedy “Everybody Loves Raymond” signs off from CBS Monday after nine seasons, it will be a testament to the staying power of pure, around-the-kitchen-table humor – comedy rooted in family relationships. And it will affirm the smarts of a star who knew when to leave the stage.
Whether the finale marks an end of an era – most everything in television is said to definitively mark the end of some phase or other – it is the end of a remarkable run for the quietly successful, almost bashful series.
That personality was forged by the collaboration of namesake Ray Romano and the perfectly matched producer Phil Rosenthal.
They devised the Barones as a blend of the Romanos and the Rosenthals. Ray lived a quarter-mile from his parents; his divorced brother, nearing 40, still lived at home. Phil recognized the guilt as his own. The balance of Italian and Jewish angst clicked.
Brought to life by Peter Boyle and Doris Roberts, the senior Barones embodied an ethnic world-weariness. Marie had her favorite son; Frank had his open-pants pose in front of the TV. “Ma” proferred food as love. Dad had a response for every outrage – “Holy crap!” – that practically became the show’s catchphrase.
The grown boys, played by Romano and Brad Garrett, were studies in arrested development, Italian-American Division. Ray was selfish, and Robert was an impossibly late bloomer. Rivals, they were also allies against the smothering parents. Daughter-in-law Debra, played by Patricia Heaton, could be shrill and overly cranky. But like each of the flawed personalities on the show, she too was lovable.
If you didn’t howl at the Fruit of the Month Club scene in the pilot, you didn’t have parents. Or you had no soul. With that one bit – Why so much fruit? Where are we supposed to put all this fruit? What, our son thinks we’re so old we can’t buy our own fruit? – the series claimed the theme of binding family ties.
If you didn’t crack up over “Marie’s Sculpture” in the third season, you weren’t paying attention. How they got that anatomically correct artwork past the censors remains a mystery.
What can you say about relatives like these? “Everybody Loves Raymond” said it, sometimes not so gently, for nine years.
Unlike most comedy writers’ rooms in Hollywood, this one saw virtually no turnover. As a consequence, there were no lurching changes in character, abrupt turns in story line or tone-deaf lapses in dialogue. It was the same low-profile success year after year, accruing 65 Emmy nominations.
“Everybody Loves Raymond” worked on the hunch that we would all recognize the neurotic tics that come with familial love. The specifics of how we drive loved ones crazy may vary, but that we do is universal.
With a smile, “Raymond” explored the tortuous/loving relationships of parents and adult children, of couples, of siblings and the Peter Pan syndrome that attaches to baby boomer males, sports nuts in particular.
For CBS, the value of “Raymond” was incalculable. The series has been a top-10 hit the past five years. Before that, it was crucial in putting CBS back on track to ratings success. “Raymond” was the “first link in the comeback of CBS,” chief executive Leslie Moonves has said.
For fans, it has been a gimmick-free zone in an age when gimmickry passes for creativity, a reliable comedy at a time when the sitcom has lost its way.
“Raymond” was best when it stayed put, bouncing miscommunications and angry retorts around the house. Straying from home, venturing to Italy in Season 5, seemed an indulgence.
The finale will be true to form: an unaffected – and not very hip – 22 minutes.
TV critic Joanne Ostrow can be reached at 303-820-1830 or jostrow@denverpost.com.
