By Elaine Liner
By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Anna Merlan
By Lee Escobedo
In the past 10 years there has not been a network television series as moving, as funny or as honest as Freaks and Geeks, which debuted on NBC in September 1999 and ran for a mere 18 episodes, not even an entire season's worth of shows. Set in a Michigan suburb in the early 1980s, the show was born of creator Paul Feig's love-hate relationship with his nostalgia for high school, where he was pelted by dodge balls, picked on by jocks and trampled on by girls who wanted nothing to do with someone so scrawny and invisible. Through Freaks and Geeks, Feig and executive producer Judd Apatow and their collaborators, among them writers and directors Mike White and Jake Kasdan, sought to exorcise old demons that still lurk in every high school hallway. The series might have been set in the past, but it felt like something very much in the present; there is always another generation of bullies waiting for you after school.
Feig and Apatow populated McKinley High with Dungeons & Dragons-playing, Caddyshack-quoting geeks and smoking-porch, metal-rockin' freaks, two disparate groups who shared just one thing: They were the popular kids' punch lines and punching bags, outsiders banished to the lunch tables far away from the jocks and their cheerleading girlfriends. Some came from perfect families, others from homes in the middle of breaking; some wore clothes their mothers had picked out, others chose torn T-shirts and ripped jeans; some worshiped Groucho Marx, others adored Geddy Lee. But they were all familiar characters to those of us who were freshmen on the fringes or seniors just waiting for that last bell to ring so we could escape to college and the teenager's last chance at a do-over. The show ultimately made My So-Called Lifelook as realistic as stories about unicorns and hobbits.
Freaks and Geeks, more or less about a brother (geeky freshman Sam Weir, played by John Francis Daley) and a sister (freaky junior Lindsay, played by Linda Cardellini) at opposite ends of the loser's spectrum trying to find and define themselves, hasn't aired an original episode in four years. NBC added it to and subtracted it from the schedule as though the series were a burglar trying not to get caught, and it finally disappeared despite the protestations of fans who put up their Web sites in protest and threw up their hands in resigned disgust. It resurfaced on the Fox Family Channel for a little while, just long enough to add to the cult's legions, but vanished...till now. This week it makes its debut on DVD, long after fans petitioned its release.
There are two versions available: a six-disc collection, with more than two dozen commentaries and dozens of deleted scenes and myriad bloopers and more, and an eight-disc collectors' version, which comes with an 80-page yearbook designed by Feig specifically for the rabid fetishists for whom plenty is never enough. To watch the show again is to be reminded of how special it was--seldom have so many fictionalized characters ever felt so real--and to be reminded of how tragic is its absence. Just as we got to know these people, they were taken from us by the network that now can't get enough of Donald Trump and Fear Factor.
So we will never know what became of Lindsay, last seen joining Deadheads on their journey from Michigan to Texas. We will never know what happened to Martin Starr's gawky Bill and Samm Levine's nebbishy Neil and Daley's awkward Sam, geeks inching toward "cool." And we will never know what happened to James Franco's Daniel, the burnout trying to rekindle his flame.
"I feel like they're all my kids, in a weird way," Feig says. "It's bittersweet. Sometimes I get really sad watching them, because you remember that was such a great time, and I miss these people, and sometimes I wish the show was still on. Other times I go, 'I am so glad the show is notstill on,' because, I dunno, what if we screwed it up or, because of the nature of the kids getting older, it became less what people wanted to see?...People are always writing and asking us, 'Where are they now? What would have happened in the second season?' Who knows what the second season would have been? It's the same reason why I've never been to one of my high school reunions: I don't wanna know, ya know? I just want those people to be happy."
Freaks and Geeks was ultimately one of those series too good for television, where only the fetid and familiar remain on the air longer than a season. There's no excusing a medium that allows According to Jim and Two and a Half Men and King of Queens to survive and thrive while shoving Freaks and Geeks and other inspired and meaningful shows into early graves. It was doomed from the get-go: People don't tune into a TV show to be reminded of how painful life can be, but to escape from the very reality Feig put in front of them. Everybody loves Raymond because he's Tim Allen with a different accent, just one more schmucky, closed-off TV dad--unlike Joe Flaherty's Harold Weir on Freaks, who was a middle-class pop doing the best he could to keep his kids out of harm's way. Harold's a role model, fallible but well-intentioned; Raymond's just one more jackass you're glad you're not.