On May 13, 2014, Chris Gethard took to Tumblr to announce that Comedy Central would not be bringing the comedian’s eponymous public-access variety show to cable. At turns grateful, apologetic, and rousing, the note is infused with the spirit of “lose well,” a philosophy of embracing and moving past defeat that’s become a motto for The Chris Gethard Show and its viewers. TCGS is the type of show that attracts mottos, credos, and catchphrases: It’s a call-in show with a heavy audience-participation factor, and that audience feels an intense sense of ownership toward the show. The audience also loves to chant.
“Lose well” also comes into play in a previous Gethard-penned Tumblr post, “The Chase Is The Thing And The Thing Is The Chase,” written in response to an anonymous reader question about getting “the courage to perform.” These two posts are of a piece: Both possess the grounded-yet-tenacious tone that has made Gethard an Internet-age hero, one-part outsider icon, one-part keyboard guru. The posts also deal with Gethard-led projects being cut loose by Comedy Central—though the first time around, that cutting loose happened in a much more public fashion.
In 2010, the Will Ferrell- and Adam McKay-produced Comedy Central series Big Lake was in need of a lead. Created by NewsRadio and Futurama veteran Lew Morton, Big Lake—about financial wunderkind Josh Franklin, who tanks an investment firm and moves back in with his parents (Deborah Rush and James Rebhorn)—was developed as a vehicle for Napoleon Dynamite star Jon Heder. But as production of the multi-camera sitcom geared up in March of that year, Heder quit, citing creative differences. Gethard—who’d worked with Ferrell and McKay as an audition reader for past projects from their Gary Sanchez Productions shingle—was chosen from a handful of potential replacements for Heder. The gig swiftly elevated Gethard from a regular presence at New York’s Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre to the guy working alongside Saturday Night Live alumni Chris Parnell and Horatio Sanz (the latter a founding member of the UCB Theatre’s flagship troupe). Preceded by a major press push focused on Gethard’s meteoric rise, Big Lake premiered on August 17. By September, it was gone. As the show’s star would later write, “99 percent of the people who have ever heard my name or seen my face in the entire world know me as ‘That guy who was really bad in that sitcom Will Ferrell produced.’”
The Gethard of The Chris Gethard Show is only recognizable in fits and starts on Big Lake. TCGS draws so much of its humor from its host reacting to things that affect him directly: strangers describing how they’d fight Gethard, a dominatrix dictating how he runs the show, a villainous recurring character forcing the host into a dog cage. Big Lake attempted a similar trick, only with Josh reacting to the madness swirling around him. He’s put in the same role Bob Newhart served on The Bob Newhart Show and Newhart: the last sane man in a world gone mad. Josh is making a sincere effort to sort things out in his hometown and make good on the debt he owes his parents; Josh’s big bust also wiped out their life savings. But those efforts are forever undone by the shenanigans of his friends and family—or undermined by the discouragement of Rebhorn’s Carl, the sort of disappointed father the late actor was born to play.
Denied a Newhart-like sardonic acceptance of the situation, and unable to dive Gethard-like into the chaos, Josh is flattened out into a chirpy optimist lacking the competence necessary for pulling off a get-rich-again-quick scheme. The star’s performance feels constrained by these qualities; the early scripts rarely provide him with anything in the way of an escape hatch. In the pilot, Josh admits he never fully understood the financial tool that was his downfall, and the character’s benign naïveté has all the qualities of a part tailored to Heder’s sleepy-eyed affect. (The most mortifying passage of the New York Times profile on Big Lake and Gethard, “The Angst Of An Accidental Sitcom Star,” involves the actor finding his name on call sheets marked “The Untitled Jon Heder Project.”) If the Big Lake theme had any lyrics, their singer could not genuinely describe Josh as the weirdest guy they know.
But Gethard isn’t bad on Big Lake, and Big Lake isn’t a bad sitcom. Heder’s departure set the show a few steps back before it even began, but the nerves on display in the pilot, “Josh Comes Home,” are noticeably calmer in episodes filmed deeper into the show’s production schedule. By the time of “Chris Moves In” and “Josh Goes To Work,” the rest of the ensemble steps up to ease some of the burden off of Gethard, with Parnell in particular doing spectacularly deadpan work as unscrupulous school teacher Chris Henkel. World-building is the target that Big Lake hits with the greatest accuracy: Josh returns to his former home expecting it to be a respite from the big-city roller coaster, but things are just as messy and weird—if not more so—in Big Lake. It’s an absurd universe that only had so many episodes and so many standing sets to grow from, but it’s ideal for the live-action cartoon at the heart of the show. Josh’s golden-child kid brother, Jeremy (Dylan Blue), fakes a lisp and a promising academic career in order to run the town’s vice operations on the sly; when the mayor undergoes a routine medical procedure, Chris customarily takes his place, getting drunk on power and responsibility in just under 24 minutes. As Josh’s over-medicated mother, Linda, Deborah Rush could’ve easily been subjected to a gauntlet of spaced-cadet punchlines. Instead, she factors into some of the show’s most surreal sequences, like this quick-cut montage of Linda bonding with the hooded beast who haunts her night terrors.
If anything, Big Lake could’ve used more sequences like this one, more chances to display its inner oddness. It’s too tempting to blame the series’ flop on the multi-camera, studio-audience format, the type of series Comedy Central was more akin to send up, as it did with the Trey Parker and Matt Stone anti-sitcom That’s My Bush! in 2001. But Big Lake isn’t as purposefully satirical as That’s My Bush! or intentionally envelope-pushing as something like HBO’s Lucky Louie, Louis C.K.’s short-lived shot at making The Honeymooners for a post-Sopranos world. Big Lake is an old-fashioned redemption story with a familiar domestic setting—it just happens that it was produced for a basic cable network in 2010, so the language is a little saltier and the situations of its comedy decidedly more adult. It only fitfully found ways to lean into that disconnect, usually in moments when the cast was set loose to apply its improv- and theater-trained chops to a scene. Big Lake is at its most alive in these moments, be they ex-con Glenn (Sanz) explaining to Josh, in great detail, how he confused a fundraising thermometer chart for an image of a penis, or Josh rifling off ideas to boost sales at the Franklin family restaurant, Cheddar Creek.