The Scary Movie franchise obviously owes much to this kind of comedy, yet the films are cruder and dirtier, mostly parodying other movies and inviting viewers to laugh simply by virtue of recognizing what is being mocked.  When Airplane’s Jerry Zucker was hired to direct number three, his would-be trump card was casting Nielsen in a bit part. (It didn’t save the film, but, still, it was a good idea.)  Nielsen also appeared in Scary Movie 4, and his final, posthumous performance will be in Scary Movie 5.  Somehow, it seems unlikely that Nielsen will snag an Oscar like Heath Ledger did.  But it is a sure bet that Nielsen will get a massive round of applause during the “In Memoriam” section of the Oscars, and we can fervently hope for an homage clip reel—anything to offer relief from the Serious and Important movies that dominate the industry’s annual celebration of itself.  Will viewers perhaps even be treated to the finale of Naked Gun 33 1/3, in which Nielsen thwarts a terrorist attempt to blow up the Academy Awards?

Nielsen was not a subtle, interior performer, but we can still classify him as a classic less-is-more comedian.  He didn’t bother with neuroses (Ben Stiller) or infantile bluster (Adam Sandler, Jack Black).  Most contemporary comedies set up some kind of personal problem to be solved.  Black needs to grow up, find a real job, and feel the urge to accomplish something in School of Rock.  Ditto Seth Rogen in Knocked Up and the goofs of Hot Tub Time Machine.  Stiller contends with crazy in-laws in the Fockers franchise.  These plot-driven movies convey some vague notion that their characters have interiority.

Nielsen didn’t mess with such tomfoolery.  All he needed was funny dialogue and his trademark deadpan delivery or wide-eyed reaction shot.  There was also a lot of physical humor; somehow, even when you were sure a stuntman was performing the pratfalls, you still credited Nielsen for the laugh. It wasn’t Shakespeare.  Or Preston Sturges, for that matter.  But it worked.  In the Naked Gun, Nielsen is charged with thwarting a plot to kill Queen Elizabeth.  This naturally ends in a hilarious showdown that includes a Queen lookalike.  By the conclusion of any Naked Gun movie, we can be sure that dignified people will get knocked around, their asses up in the air like Mabel Normand in a Keystone comedy.  There’s no need to waste time with our hero’s “issues.”

Like a comic Vincent Price, Nielsen could waltz through the most absurd set-up and deliver exactly what the script demanded.  He began as a serious actor in films like Forbidden Planet and Tammy and the Bachelor, and in Playhouse 90 productions, so it should come as no surprise that he was a competent professional who knew how to hit his marks, deliver a straight line, fall down, or use a prop in an undignified manner.  But this particular kind of performance—parodic without being cynical, funny without the pretense of sophistication, and sometimes self-effacing, with sight gags funnier than the comedian’s reaction to them—is not what is currently held in highest esteem.

Roger Ebert once called Nielsen “the Olivier of spoofs,” but spoofing is not very fashionable today; rather, it is improvisation that is most highly regarded, and filmmakers like Judd Apatow oblige by laboriously coaxing dialogue from performers rather than scripting the words themselves.  A recent New Yorker article on Steve Carell actually holds up Airplane as an example of “traditional” comedy conveying “a sleekness that calls to mind the typewriter.”  Improv, conversely, should “feel fresh and unstudied…  [with] a skewed specificity that bears the stamp of an actor’s subconscious.”   There’s no doubt that improvised comedy is often terrific, and infinitely better than the canned stuff of, say, Two and a Half Men.  Yet the idea that the scripted Airplane is somehow inherently stale and studied strikes me as snobby and—even worse—humorless.  Carell is brilliantly intuitive, and presented with a single prop (a boiled lobster) and simple instructions (“be funny!”) he could probably surpass Nielsen in improvising a hilarious routine.  In Naked Gun 2 ½, Nielsen just follows the script.  As he digs into a lobster, lemons fly through the air, the lobster’s giant claw accidentally clamps down on a lady’s booby, and Nielsen accidentally smacks Barbara Bush right in the kisser, sending her flying.  This tightly scripted, choreographed scene is executed like a Rube Goldberg Machine.  And that’s why it’s funny.

With Nielsen gone, where will Barbara Bush and Queen Elizabeth lookalikes find work, and suffer massive indignities?  Where will viewers yearning for a good fart joke unencumbered by the stamp of the actor’s subconscious turn?  After a long day, with a pizza in front of you and a cold beer in your hand, would you really rather see Seth Rogen learn to stop smoking pot and be a good dad than Leslie Nielsen reenacting the Untouchables homage to the Battleship Potemkin staircase sequence?  Surely not.  And don’t call me Shirley.

On the other hand, Battlestar Galactica was over, there was no new Trek on the horizon (What rebooted Star Trek movie?  J.J. Abrams, you are dead to me!), and I hadn’t started watching the new Dr. Who yet.  Maybe it was time to leave the safe haven of sci-fi niche nerdom and dip my toe into a mass program.  BBT had just won a People’s Choice award.  Could all the people be wrong all the time?  I’d give it a chance.  I kept watching and was soon delighted to see the boys play Klingon Boggle, order the time machine from The Time Machine on eBay, and discuss “the problem with teleportation.”  In one episode, there was a double-cameo:  Summer Glau and Nobel Prize winning physicist George Smoot.  Whammo!  This show was nerdtastic.  I even accidentally spotted a spoiler from season 3: Will Wheaton would emerge as Sheldon’s nemesis!  Though touted as “from the creator of Two and a Half Men [Chuck Lorre],” this show was not letting me down, and it didn’t really seem so “mass” after all.  This was a conventionally shot and structured (A-story, B-story, tidy resolutions, etc.) show that was apparently pitched to people who usually gravitate to the Sci-Fi Channel. (What the hell does “SyFy” mean?  SyFy, you are dead to me!)  Except then the show did let me down.

I should back up.  Season 1 was a slow build.  I smiled a lot, but rarely laughed aloud, and the premise that Leonard was in love with the hot girl living in the apartment across the hallway was pretty thin.  Hot girl’s lines were mostly limited to “huh?”  Horny friend Howard’s attempts to score by letting chicks drive the Mars Rover via remote control were maybe a little funny, but not really.  Then, season two turned hilarious.  The writing got tighter, hot girl Penny managed more resourceful retorts, peripheral characters at the comic book shop emerged (soft-spoken Stuart, non-speaking Captain Sweatpants), and sci-fi references got funnier and funnier.  Leonard Nimoy came up a lot.

Then, season 3.  Penny and Leonard become a couple, but Penny doesn’t even know who Stan Lee and Adam West are.  Sheldon is perplexed and asks, “what do you talk about after coitus?”  It’s a good question.  And what about before coitus?  The most distressing moment comes when Leonard and Penny have a fight because she believes in psychics, and he says it’s all hokum.  Leonard asks Howard how he can stay with someone whose beliefs violate all that he stands for.  Howard says he can stand by his principles and break up, but his new girlfriend will be . . . his hand.  Ow.  So Leonard stays with Penny.

We soon learn that Penny doesn’t even count Klingon as a legitimate foreign language.  To top it all off, Will Wheaton’s acting has not only not improved since his ST:TNG days, it has gotten worse.  But the biggest problem is that by the end of season 3 it is clear that the show sees women strictly as sex objects.  And I use this dated language quite deliberately.  When a show gets this misogynist, it’s time to whip out the Women’s Lib. The Sheldon character remains brilliantly conceived and executed, with not a little queer subtext, but, still, this really is a show “from the creator of Two and a Half Men.”

I thought BBT was a niche show disguised as a mass show, but it was just the reverse, and I do think this raises several interesting questions.  As media scholars, we often seize upon “complex” dramas, taking them as emblematic of post-network possibilities, but what role will the three-camera sitcom—rumors of the death of which have clearly been exaggerated—play in the post-network era?  Why did CBS create a show that pretended to target a geek demographic, when it was really looking for lads all along?  Is BBT laughing with or at nerds?  I think it’s trying to have its cake and eat it too.  And, finally, is it really beyond the networks’ ken to imagine a funny show about nerds in which women are not short-changed?  If progressive (or even slightly interesting) gender politics are only viable in the world of niche programming, and if the decidedly niche Comedy Channel is determined to pitch its programming to young males, where does this leave women in TV comedies?  Screw TV.  I’m rooting for Felicia Day, on the Internet.  While The Guild is not Trek-centric, I suspect that all the central characters on the show, male and female, would be comfortable with the notion that Klingon is a legitimate foreign language.  Kaplah!