..Gary Dretzka
..Noah Forrest
..Leonard Klady
..R.J. Matson
..David Poland
..Douglas Pratt
..Ray Pride
..Michael Wilmington

It’s no picnic being intelligent these days. Like Rodney Dangerfield, no one gives smart people any respect.

Not so long ago, highbrow intellectuals and other tweedy types could intimidate lesser mortals by peering over the rims of their bifocals and tossing a few multi-syllabic words into an argument or debate. Suburban parents would watch Firing Line, and dream of their children acquiring a vocabulary to match that of William F. Buckley Jr. Students who participated on The GE College Bowl had a fighting chance of making more money over the course of their professional careers than your average one-hit-wonder pop star or street-corner pot dealer.

In addition to marquee-topping movie stars and recording artists, late-night talk shows would feature conversations with such erudite souls as Norman Mailer, Orson Bean, Gore Vidal, Gloria Steinem, Dr. Joyce Brothers, Julia Child and Peter Ustinov. Showing up sexy, buff and damn near naked wasn’t nearly as important as having something funny or intelligent to say.

Such oddities as Oscar Levant, Phil Specter, Monte Rock III, Soupy Sales, Mr. Blackwood, Charles Nelson Reilly and Professor Irwin Corey could be counted on to liven up any discussion, even if they didn’t have anything to sell or promote. An Eleanor Roosevelt or Albert Schweitzer might show up at the odd moment. Sometimes, these chats would last longer than a single commercial break.

Not everyone in Middle America knew who these celebrities were, or what made them famous. But, if they were good enough to sit alongside Jack, Steve, Dick or Johnny … well, who was some insomniac in Kansas to argue the point?

Today, of course, intelligent conversation is anathema to late-night talk shows. Looking young and hot is the sole prerequisite for a booking … that, and having something to sell. With the recent passing of Tony Randall, the task of putting more than three sentences together after 11:35 p.m. has been left to Regis Philbin, who once filled the Ed McMahon slot for Joey Bishop, and probably talks in his sleep.

That’s why I feel sorry for smart people.

Not being particularly intelligent or witty, myself, I didn’t always feel that way. It came to me this past weekend, after flying half-way across the country, and back, in planes full of people absorbed in their National Enquirers, two-day-old copies of USA Today and Entertainment Weeklys.

Everyone seemed to be searching for clues into the worrisome disappearance of comedian Dave Chappell and evil Angelina Jolie’s ability to turn Brad Pitt into her latest boy-toy. Others appeared to be considering the possibility that Jessica Simpson’s marriage might be on the rocks, or the likelihood that Cameron Diaz was cheating on Justin Timberlake with a married dweeb TV producer.

If there was a New York Times was within 20 miles of our cabin, it was in the cargo hold of a passing airliner.

After exhausting the reading material I’d brought on the plane, I tried to imagine how it felt for someone not conversant with celebrity culture to endure a cross-country flight in the company of people who worshipped the images on the covers of the Star and Us. Striking up a conversation would only reveal an ignorance of pop culture, and prompt ridicule from the same hoi-polloi once dismissible with a raised eyebrow.

“And who or what, prey tell, is a Sith?,” he might ask his next-seat neighbor, after spotting a copy of the recent issue of Time that pimped for Star Wars: Episode III. “Why is everyone making so much of a fuss over a what … a movie … or did this Darth Vader fellow win the American Idol competition I read about in the Times?”

After the uproarious laughter died down, the egghead would try to melt further into the seat cushion and vow never again to fly coach.

In business-class, at least, one could kill time perusing a Wall Street Journal, or discussing something other than the possibility that Katie Holmes was “bearding” for Tom Cruise. Having seen only one Tom Cruise movie -- Eye Wide Shut, because it was Kubrick’s last film -- there had been no need to form an opinion on Cruise’s sexuality, one way or the other. And, anyway, how many PhD’s could pick out a leading spokesman for Scientology -- whatever that might be -- from a police lineup, even if he was surrounded by ET, Barney, Mickey Mouse and Donald Trump?

When First Brother Jeb Bush inherits the White House in 2008, as now seems inevitable, don’t be surprised if intellectuals are required to don academic gowns and mortarboard caps, before leaving home each day. Isn’t that what all the smart people in Marx Brothers movies wore? Tassels, bushy beards and support hose would be optional.

That’ll teach ’em.

Only time will tell if this endangered species will be able to survive another 10 years of red-state supremacy and mindless celebrity worship (or 10 years of worshipping mindless celebrities, depending one’s opinion on Paris Hilton). Given recent advances in genetic technology, perhaps some melding of beauty and intellect might be possible, if only to create a better Hollywood icon.

Considering the failed marriages of Marilyn Monroe and Arthur Miller, Jane Fonda and Tom Hayden, Sharon Stone and the newspaper editor whose toe became lunch for a lizard in the L.A. zoo, however, we’d probably be stuck with a generation of gorgeous Nobel Prize-winners and homely movie stars. Better that smart people leave this sort of cross-species experimentation to the Demi Moores and Ashton Kutchers of the world.

Pretending to embrace an otherwise incomprehensible pop culture will only hurt for a short while, even for members of the Mensa society. Those hoping to pass are advised to do what they do best: study.

A perfect test case presents itself in the mystery surrounding the baffling disappearance -- and suspicious re-appearance -- of Dave Chappell.

OK, I get it, you’ve never heard of the guy, let alone watched a comedy show on cable TV. Trust me on this: Chappell’s a very big star, and his decision to take an unannounced vacation in South Africa this month freaked out a lot of people.

Just know this: Chappell is a gifted mimic and observer of the culture -- high, low and in between -- who’s been performing stand-up comedy since he was 14, but only recently became an identifiable figure to anyone older than the scotch in their liquor cabinet. Although his show has been a Comedy Central staple for the last two years, Chappell is less recognizable to the average American than Chris Rock, Richard Pryor, P. Diddy and Jimmy “J.J.” Walker.

His disappearance is making headline news in the tabloid press for one simple reason. By blowing off production on the third season of Chappelle’s Show, he appears to be throwing away $50 million in potential income over the next two years. And, even in Hollywood, that’s real money.

When the news of his disappearance leaked out to the press, everyone assumed that he was, 1) crazy, 2) addicted to drugs, 3) suffering from the delusion that Comedy Central would go dark without him, or 4) under the spell of the same financial adviser once employed by star NFL running backs Ricky Williams and Barry Sanders, both of whom went AWOL on their teams. Of the four options, only the first two seemed to be likely possibilities.

One story speculated that he had checked himself into a “mental hospital” in South Africa, after overdosing on booze, drugs and/or too much partying. No sooner had that news broke than Chappell showed up in some South African burg, re-assuring his fans that he was merely laying low for a while.

That’s all pretty interesting, but the real burning question left to be answered involves Comedy Central’s decision to pay one of its entertainers $50 million, especially one who was practically unknown two years ago? More to the point, how does one intelligently discuss the ramifications of Chappelle’s actions with your new friends on the Southwest shuttle?

Here are some tips:

First, pick up copies of the Paramount DVD packages, Chappelle's Show -- Season One: Uncensored and Chappelle’s Show -- Season Two: Uncensored. The Ohio native had appeared in something like 18 movies before being given a sketch-comedy show on Comedy Central. Even a diehard fan, however, would be hard-pressed to pick out a title of his, other than the cult-favorite, “Half-Baked,” that’s worth mentioning before for the move into television.

Even by the loosened standards of cable television, Chappelle’s Show pushed the envelope on what was considered fair game for satire, parody and outright ridicule … race, drugs, sex, celebrity, corporate greed and hypocrisy of all stripes. Much of the first season had passed before any measurable number of viewers began to tune into the show, and most of those were stoners too toasted to turn the channel after the end of “South Park.” Soon enough, though, it was discovered by hip-hoppers, college students, yuppies and those baby boomers who still enjoyed a toke or two after dinner.

Here was a guy who got away with stuff the networks wouldn’t let Richard Pryor get away with on his short-lived variety series … stuff that, 30 years later, wouldn’t even fly on Saturday Night Live or Mad TV. Like Fox’s In Living Colour, the appeal of Chappelle’s Show crossed most social, racial and economic barriers. A gang-banger and a college professor could find humor in the same sketch, appreciate the intelligence of the material in equal measures and similarly admire the courage it took to make himself a target of the guardians of political correctness.

The inspiration for some of the best material came directly from the real-life experiences of Chappelle’s creative team. Perhaps the show’s most celebrated sketch came in the form of a story told by Charlie Murphy -- Eddie’s brother -- and his bizarre relationship with the notorious funk-rocker and coke freak, Rick James. Murphy’s narrative skills were remarkable, and the tales he told about life in the fast lane lent themselves to easy re-enactment by Chappelle’s acting troupe. That “Charlie Murphy’s True Hollywood Stories” also were extremely profane only added to their appeal with the core demographic.

Among the memorable sketches, as listed on the Wikipedia site devoted to Chappelle:

"The Niggar Family": a send up of a Leave It To Beaver-type family whose last name happens to be Niggar.

Trading Spouses: A spoof of the reality show Trading Spaces, where a white and black family exchange fathers. (At least two U.S. networks would schedule reality shows based upon similar premises, including one actually called “Trading Spouses.”)

The racial draft: An ESPN-style draft telecast where the various races of the world finally decide to claim several mixed-race (and other) celebrities as their own.

* “Frontline: The life of Clayton Bigsby,” a biography of a blind, black "white supremacist" raised thinking he was white.

* “Samuel Jackson Beer”: A parody of the Samuel Adams beer commercials, it featured Chappelle as a very profane Sam Jackson dressed in colonial-style clothes, telling viewers, "It'll get you drunk"

The "Mad Real World,” a parody of MTV's The Real World, in which a mild-mannered white male moves in with a group of antagonistic black roommates.

“R. Kelly's Piss on You" music video (and remix)

“Negrodamus”: soothsayer to the stars.

“Blackzilla!”: a send up of Godzilla movies in which a giant Dave battles Godzilla in the middle of Tokyo.

By the time the second season launched, word had spread to mainstream audiences. Chappelle’s Show quickly became the No. 2 show on Comedy Central, behind South Park, both of which are in an endless rerun pattern. Last summer, his range was further tested in a Showtime special that gave new meaning to the term, “blue.” Then, before James’ death, the comic and the singer discussed making a movie based on material from the “Charlie Murphy’s True Hollywood Stories” sketch.

More than 2 million copies of the double-disc DVD set, Chappelle's Show -- Season One: Uncensored, have been sold, at anywhere between $13.50 and $26.99. It broke the record for TV-to-DVD sales, previously held by The Simpsons: The Complete First Season.
The Season Two package contains three discs, including one devoted entirely to bonus features, and it will sell for between $25.85 and $39.99.

You can do the math yourself to see if all this adds up to $50 million. (One report suggests that Chappelle’s new contract has him receiving half of all DVD revenues from the show.)

Originally, the Season Two DVD was to be released last Feb. 8, a week ahead of the third season of Chappelles's Show. Because the episodes weren’t coming together, as expected, Comedy Central and Paramount agreed to postpone the dual launch until the end of May.
When Chappelle suddenly vanished, the third season was put on hold, possibly forever. The DVD will come out on Tuesday, as planned.

No one, but Chappell, knows for sure what’s ailing the comedian, and which of the rumors currently circulating is true. Chappell himself has denied an Entertainment Weekly report that he had checked himself into a South African mental-health facility, with the implication that he‘s strung out on crack. In a Time interview, he said, "I'm definitely stressed out. ... You hear so many voices jockeying for position in your mind that you want to make sure that you hear your own voice.

“(There’s been) a lot of resistance to my opinions, so I decided, 'Let me remove myself from this situation.'"

There have been reports that Comedy Central asked Chappell to tone down some of the show’s humor, perhaps to avoid more controversy and broaden the audience. Network president Doug Herzog told Time, however, that Chappelle has "complete creative freedom."

If Chappelle needs more time and space to relax, he’ll find plenty of both on the 65-acre farm in rural Ohio he shares with his wife and two children. That’s right, rural Ohio … home to some of the biggest, baddest, down farmers in the cornbelt.

So, professor, there you have it. Next time you’re at a bus stop or Starbucks and some teeny-bopper walks up to get your opinion on the subject, just brush the crumbs out of your beard, and reply, “Look, the poor guy’s been doing stand-up and writing sitcoms since he was 14. No one expected the show to explode the way it did … not Dave, not the network.

“So, when the prospect of a Season Three and Four arose, with $50 million attached, this fine young artist assumed all the pressure to make things work perfectly. To maintain his base of loyal fans and not sell out to commercial concerns, Dave pressed himself to make the new shows funnier and even more controversial … which, of course, wasn’t what the network wanted, at all.

“Who wouldn’t buckle under that kind of pressure? To avoid the spotlight of the tabloid press and paparazzi, he went to the furthest place on Earth away from New York, where a brother could hide in relative obscurity. As for the $50 million, it’s Dave’s and Comedy Central’s to lose … not anyone else’s.

“When he needs the bread, someone will pay him a bundle to make a comeback. In the meantime, look at all the free publicity he’s getting for the new DVD. End of story.”

Your advanced degree in celebrity studies will be assured.

May 21, 2005
- Gary Dretzka