Five Cheers for Frasier

By JAMES COLLINS

For a group of people who are taking on the biggest job of the new TV season, the cast of Frasier seems pretty relaxed and excited. At a recent rehearsal of the first episode, Kelsey Grammer, who plays Frasier Crane--radio psychiatrist, aesthete, lech--cracks jokes and sucks on a lollipop. David Hyde Pierce--Frasier's brother Niles--lounges on the set sharing a newspaper with John Mahoney, who plays Frasier's and Niles' father Martin. Jane Leeves, Martin's home-health aide, and Peri Gilpin, who plays Frasier's producer, chat and giggle on a nearby couch. Moose the dog (known on the show as Eddie) curls up in a chair. Even on the night of the filming, as they practice lines in a crowded hair-and-makeup room, there's more ebullience than anxiety. Grammer struggles to remember a line that begins, "And finally..." Over and over he says, "And finally...And finally...And finally..." until he gives up and jokes, "Orgasm! That's it! And finally orgasm!"

This week Frasier becomes television's most prominent comedy. Its season premiere airs Sept. 24 at 9 p.m. e.t. as part of NBC's Thursday lineup, which for years has been the most dominant in prime time. Occupying the Seinfeld slot will give Frasier added prestige and viewers. If it can hold on to them, the show is virtually guaranteed to be the highest-rated comedy this season. The move is in fact a homecoming for Grammer, since Cheers, where his character originated, was shown during the same time period, and Frasier started out on that night before moving to Tuesday in 1994.

"I thought it was appropriate," says Grammer of his return. "I do think we are the premiere show on NBC and the best series on television." Many people agree with him. Earlier this month, Frasier won its fifth consecutive Emmy, a record. It has continually earned praise over the years for being intelligent and literate, and it has been a perennial ratings success, always finishing in the Top 20.

And yet there are also some bad fairies at the party, a small band for whom two minutes' exposure to Frasier, with its forced repartee about boutonnieres, is an excruciating experience in midcult hell. For us, the apotheosis of Frasier is not a great cause for celebration. What are we going to do on Thursdays at 9? The alternatives aren't terrible: we could watch Diagnosis Murder, the sublimely hokey CBS drama. We could read Wallace Stevens. But is it possible that there is another option? Could it be that even someone most resistant to Frasier's charms could learn to love it? Well, maybe.

The first step to acceptance--of a spouse, a parent or a television program--is to honestly acknowledge that person's or program's flaws. To us dissenters, the problem with Frasier is that it is not as smart as it thinks it is. Merely mentioning Biedermeier should not pass for wit. Of course, the show makes fun of Frasier and his twittering brother, while Martin, an ex-cop, is intended to provide an earthy contrast to them. But viewers are still supposed to find the Crane boys sophisticated and lovable and ever ready with the withering riposte. Au contraire, they are often insufferable. Too frequently Grammer and Pierce adopt the mannerisms and voices of two actors in a provincial production of Noel Coward, working themselves to death. The other members of the cast, including Dan Butler as sportscaster "Bulldog" Briscoe, are likable enough, but the brothers dominate.

Despite its reputation, Frasier really is just another sitcom, and it uses all the typical devices. It seems as if almost every comedy on TV ended last season with a dramatic plot twist, and Frasier was no exception: everyone was fired from the station. This fall's first episode shows Frasier as he tries to deal with the grief over losing his job, and while it is above the average level of TV comedy, it's still fairly routine. Frasier's smashing a pinata at the ex-employees' picnic is the kind of contrived moment you could just as easily have seen on Coach.

But even someone who resists Frasier's charm can find attributes that make it distinct and admirable. First of all, unlike Roseanne or Seinfeld or Home Improvement or Mad About You or so many other sitcoms of recent years, it does not star a stand-up comedian. Grammer is an actor playing a part, not a comic who has had a show built around him. As a result, Frasier has a presence as a character that is rare on TV today. He is not just a comic's alter ego, but a creation who seems to have a life of his own.

This quality of richness is one that distinguishes the show as a whole. The writing is more writerly and the acting is more, well, actorly. On most sitcoms, all the lines but the jokes seem dispensable, and the shows seem to have been mostly put together in the editing room. In contrast, the best Frasier episodes seem like little 22-min. plays whose scripts have words that actually matter, and whose scenes build as they would onstage. Indeed, that's where most of the ensemble started out. "Maybe because of our theater training we are conditioned to listen to each other," says Grammer.

As for the writers, they are not all veterans of TV or college humor magazines, but include playwrights and novelists. Even the writers' room has a different mood from that of most sitcoms. Instead of the usual Buddy and Sally rat-a-tat-tat of joke pitching, there are often 15 minutes of silence, as a new idea is considered. The writers feel their words are given an unusual amount of respect, by Grammer especially. "He will try every possible way to make something work before he questions it," says writer Jeffrey Richman.

The merits of Frasier are on display in an episode like last season's "Room Service," which recounts the consequences when Niles has a tryst with Frasier's ex-wife Lilith, who is visiting from out of town and after whom Frasier continues to lust. The construction is faultless, as a waiter delivers breakfast to Lilith and Niles; returns to find Lilith and Frasier; and on his third visit discovers Frasier and Niles. Before he learns what Niles has done, Frasier is blustery and assured, waggling his taurine head. "My ex-wife--we're sort of reconnecting," he confides to the waiter when they are alone. "Who knows? It just might work out this time."

Now, having got the spot he wanted, Grammer must deliver. "I'm feeling some pressure," he admits. "Certainly because of what others expect of the show now, and my own sense of pressure is so insane I don't need any additional help. I am completely capable of self-annihilation at any moment." (That's almost literally true--Grammer has had terrible struggles with drugs and alcohol, and in 1996 he entered a rehab after flipping over his Viper while intoxicated.) No one expects Frasier to match Seinfeld's ratings. Still, millions of new viewers will sample the show, and NBC is counting on it to convert a lot of them. It surely will, and maybe even some of the bad fairies will turn good.