A key tenet of creating comedy is escalation. How do you take an idea and stretch it to its extreme, surreal conclusion? For two seasons, Nathan Fielder’s The Rehearsal has practiced this on scales grand and small. The comedian’s pitch to the audience in the series premiere was: What if you could really practice a potentially awkward or embarrassing social situation in advance? Cut to season two as Fielder flies a commercial airliner alone across the Atlantic. But this constant ratcheting up happens within individual episodes, and there is perhaps no episode that put this to better use than “Pilot’s Code.”
The episode, which earned Fielder an Emmy nomination for directing, comes in the middle of his quest to improve airline safety by doing the same with communication between pilots. This premise is mostly sidelined in “Pilot’s Code,” which instead goes eccentrically philosophical with the question: How can we really understand what goes on in another person’s head? The episode begins with a couple who cloned a beloved pet dog but are unhappy that it does not behave like its progenitor. Our host, using his much-ballyhooed Fielder Method, attempts to recreate the exact circumstances of the first dog’s upbringing, hiring actors (and animals) to replicate the couple’s home as it was in 2011. Then he schemes to do the same with himself but as Captain Sully Sullenberger, the pilot behind the Miracle On The Hudson landing.
It’s not hard to see why this episode was submitted in the directing category. As Fielder’s voiceover explains with characteristic deadpan that “what you’re about to witness is going to seem weird,” we watch as he shaves off his body hair, puts on a diaper, and enters a set designed to look like an infant’s nursery and scaled to render Fielder the size of a baby. From here, we follow as he speed-runs through Sullenberger’s childhood, his mother first a giant puppet and then, with his dad now in the picture, an actor on stilts to maintain the difference that Sully would see as a child. The images are bizarre and a little disturbing, filmed in a naturalistic, documentary style and performed, by Fielder, almost apathetically. The resulting mélange is so off-kilter that we have to rely on him to pilot us through the rest of the experiment.
With his “parents,” Fielder-as-Sully breastfeeds from a giant marionette, milk pouring out from the papier-mâché nipple and overflowing from his mouth onto his diaper-clad body as a wooden voiceover reads, “I tried not to think about the fact that I was a 41-year-old man and just did my best to be present in the moment.” Then, after researching extensively with Sully’s memoir, Fielder suggests that as the pilot landed the plane on the Hudson, he popped in his earbuds to listen to Evanescence’s “Bring Me To Life.” By now, after the carnivalesque childhood sequence, Fielder’s suggestion that this is plausible goes down more easily. It’s also ridiculous, but it underscores why The Rehearsal succeeds.
Fielder directed the entire second season of The Rehearsal, and nearly every episode has an inimitable image. His depiction of Paramount as Nazi Germany, of actors singing public-domain songs in a bar-cum-airport set as part of a pretend singing competition, of himself all stone-faced and flying a jet over the welcoming sands of Namibia: Fielder’s vision created the kind of appointment TV with “did you see that?” moments that are increasingly rare. And he deserves to be honored—even among somestiffcompetition—for sticking that tricky landing.