It’s a measure of a series’ promise how quickly it finds its groove after the traditionally lumpy pilot. And “Put It On Your Cabbage!” sees The Fall And Rise Of Reggie Dinkins settling into its premise with a top-to-bottom killer.
By this point, all the pieces are in place, and it’s time to truly send everyone in motion. It’s also the time when, looking back, viewers can spot the weak elements destined to be swept off the board. (Well, I still like you, Mark Brendanawicz.) An episode like this one, however, is a very good omen, as virtually everyone in the ensemble balances incremental growth with big laughs. Meanwhile, the show’s central duo rides their parallel shames right into the maw of hell—or at least a New York film festival.
Reggie is proving a lackluster documentary subject as the episode begins. Arthur and Reggie’s detente over verisimilitude reveals that a full day for Reggie Dinkins isn’t the riveting stuff Arthur imagined. Tracy Morgan makes Reggie’s mundane housebound existence watching Court TV and marveling at Michelle Williams’ new kitchen layout an amusingly cozy portrait of creeping affluence and age, at least initially. The exasperated Arthur has no choice but to violate his documentarian’s code to desperately try and prod his subject into some sort of action beyond berating Drew Barrymore for getting all up in her talk show guests’ personal space. And no, Reggie’s infrequent forays into NFL-ignorant Amish country for “the heaviest bread in central Pennsylvania” doesn’t count.
Arthur quickly susses out that Reggie is gun shy about showing his face anywhere people might remember sports’ most infamous gambling disgrace, with Morgan showing just the perfect element of sweaty denial. (Sure, Cars 3 was a cash grab, but that’s clearly not why he didn’t venture out to see Lightning McQueen at that mall.) When Arthur learns that Reggie doesn’t even attend Carmelo’s football games (claiming to prefer their “football cuddle time” game film review), his self-serving tough-love strategy to get Reggie out of the house sets the main story in motion.
Here I have to digress in celebration of one of the Fey-verse’s finest ever pieces of in-universe pop culture: Reggie’s favorite gritty drama, FDNY Chicago. Even before we hear Dean Winters’ voice as the show’s star (a heroic NYC fireman on assignment as part of the special New York unit fighting Chicago blazes), this is basically the joke to be made about ABC’s interconnectedly ubiquitous Chicago shows. Each of Winters’ deliveries of premise justifications is funnier than the last. (If I had to pick one, I’d take the elegant simplicity of “Hey, I’m walkin’ here…in Chicago!” over his jam-packed, “Whoa, don’t tell me to calm down, pally. The Bean’s on fire, and this pizza’s in a deeper dish than I’m used to.”)
Much of Reggie Dinkins’ conflicts come from people torn between self-interest and genuine, if grudging, affection. That’s hardly a groundbreaking setup, but the show (Meredith Scardino and Evan Susser wrote this episode) is so assured and the jokes are so good that the expected outcome isn’t a letdown. That’s especially true once Arthur’s smug assurance is smacked off his British kisser by an internet leak of his Marvel movie meltdown. (I will, once more, scoff at the idea that a major MCU tentpole—even one starring Dr. Squeeze—could ever be scuttled in secrecy.)
In a recent interview, Tracy Morgan praised Daniel Radcliffe’s comic chops with customary exuberance. (Is the former Harry Potter star truly the Ol’ Dirty Bastard of The Fall And Rise Of Reggie Dinkins?) But while it’s true that the odd-couple pairing of Morgan and Radcliffe may have been the high concept that sold NBC on the show, the two really do make a great comic team. Arthur’s uptight controlling schtick (and Reggie’s habit of using Arthur’s full name) might recall Liz Lemon. But like Liz, Arthur’s got his own stuff going on, and Radcliffe likewise is filling out his straight man to be more than a sidekick clinging on for the ride.
With the cornered Reggie seizing upon Arthur’s plan to lure Reggie out into public at a prestigious documentary film festival repurposed once Arthur’s shame becomes the new big scandal (internet commentator Blakely Thornton, as himself, calls Arthur “another unqualified white guy” who “pooped the bed”), both men are suddenly in the exact same predicament. Reggie can’t go back to his favorite restaurant without incurring patrons’ rage (Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt’s Mike Carlson’s “You suck!” being the loudest), while now Arthur, his tennis ball-related Marvel freakout unburied and stinking up the web, is forced to follow his subject into a swarm of New York film snobs. As quickly as it comes in the series, Reggie and Arthur’s hand-holding stride right into their improbably connected personal hells feels genuine and even a little moving. (The fallen athlete and artist can’t understand the other’s heckler insults, but they know they hurt.)
We also get a Monica and Brina B-story that manages to flesh the show’s women out just as gracefully. Brina’s initial impression as a gold-digging airhead runs up against Monica the hard-headed pragmatist and leaves both characters nicely enriched. Goggling at her exes’ younger wife and her spendthrift ways sends Monica into well-intentioned scold mode (Brina appears to have spent a lot of Dinkins’ cash clearing out a pricey spa for Arthur’s cameras), only to discover that Brina (a.k.a. Insta influencer Queen Bri The Beauty Baddie) not only rakes in as much or more than Reggie does through his remaining endorsement and residuals, but gets tons of free stuff from companies looking for a little Queen Bri bump.
Fey-verse shows, for all their sharpness and absurd touches, are as humane as those of Mike Schur at heart. Even if Reggie Dinkins careens around a similarly heightened comic reality (Reggie’s sole 20-year endorsement for German “bitter protein” herring spread Muskelgelee is finally kaput), Monica and Brina’s eventual understanding plays out in mutually human terms. (Monica even concedes that Brina does a good Reggie when she imitates his encouraging “You get that doo-doo money, baby!” over her endorsement of “probiotic toilet paper” GutRoll.)
Monica was worried for Reggie’s (and her) money, but she also wanted to warn about the perils of building your identity around a man whose time in the fast lane is finite. And if Brina’s self-reliance throws Monica’s condescension off stride, Brina also learned things the hard way, having dated a YouTube prankster named Doctor Freak who routinely showered her with snakes while she slept. She has to be bailed out of a contract by Monica, which would have allowed her likeness to be used for “porn, dolls, or army.” The show resolutely refuses to sideline the women around Reggie Dinkins. All of this is aided immeasurably by Erika Alexander and Precious Way’s consistently funny performances as strong ladies who latched onto a famous man at very different times.
As for Reggie Dinkins, Tracy Morgan might be playing a familiar role. But as he did with Tracy Jordan, he digs surprisingly deep into the psyche of a brilliantly talented Black man whose public-inflated ego must reckon with failure. 30 Rock’s entertainment world and the sports milieu here both bestow unthinkable rewards—as long as you keep the hits and the touchdowns coming. When the applause turns to jeers (or, perhaps worse, indifference), the adjustment can go very, very dark. Reggie and Arthur have each carved out protective caves there, but for both of them, “Put It On Your Cabbage!” presents a deceptively affecting (and very funny) first step outside.
Stray observations
- • Every sitcom needs its goofuses, and this episode brings Monica’s assistant Ashley (Fallout’s Rachel Marsh) to promising life. Ashley may be incompetent, but Marsh slips in sly, knowing touches, like withholding exactly which famous Jones she’s the nepo baby of.
- • Rusty’s role as scene-stealer remains a bit low-register, although Bobby Moynihan on my screen is always a good thing. I especially enjoyed Rusty’s impression of the blood he can suddenly feel rushing through his veins.
- • At Reggie’s favorite restaurant, the blank spot where his photo used to be is still surrounded by high-profile disgraces like Kevin Spacey, Matt Lauer, Diddy, and, perhaps worst of all, Mr. Frumpus. (At least those are the ones I could recognize. A little help, commenters?)
- • While such nerding out would no doubt be mocked hilariously by a Fey-verse writers’ room cutaway, it’s fun to posit where the various shows’ universes collide. Obviously, people would know if Reggie Dinkins looked just like Tracy Jordan, but then there’s Mr. Frumpus… (And if Dennis Duffy somehow weaseled his way into a starring role in the Chicago-verse, who’d be surprised, really?)
- • Like Tracy Jordan’s cheapie animated adventure alongside Shaq, Reggie Dinkins once starred in a Space Jam football knockoff featuring nothing but public-domain monsters. (The wolfman is just a dude because the big game isn’t played under a full moon.)
- • While not immortalized on the wall at Toshi’s, Me Too villain (and current MAGA propagandist) Bret Ratner is revealed to have once been the namesake of the long-ago documentary award Arthur won (for his short, “Y2KKK”).
- • Reggie and Arthur’s worlds collide since the documentary festival is screening Bada Bing: A History Of Strip Clubs In Film.
- • “You look like a Black Jessica Rabbit.” “I’ll allow it. Continue.”
- • The despondent Arthur succumbs to FDNY Chicago: “It was clever how they couldn’t find the subway fire because the train was above ground.”
Dennis Perkins is a contributor to The A.V. Club.
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