what new is there to be said about the kids in the hall in 2018? apparently, not much. or if there is, paul myers was the wrong man for the job. while certainly an engaging and easy read, one dumb guy suffers from a biographer far too close to, or too fond of, his subjects. the end product, even coming in at over 300 pages, feels light and insubstantial—not near hefty enough for one of comedy's most controversial yet enduring heavyweights.
myers discloses early on that he's been a fan for a long time, going to their live shows back in the 80s with his brother, mike (yes, that one), and though the admission contextualizes all that follows, it doesn't lead to any revelations in the interviews with the kids themselves. the five of them have, by and large, been very candid with what it's like to work with the other four and to be in a comedy troupe that has managed to stay in business for over 30 years. as myers says, it's each of the kids' longest marriage, and their conflict—as well as their candor—is something of a thing for anyone who interviews them. (you can always tell if an interviewer hasn't read up before talking to one of them—they'll ask questions about memories and hanging out together, despite the fact that inter-troupe strife is by no means a secret.) so it's incredibly disappointing to see someone who's moderately close to the kids so utterly squander such a unique opportunity to divulge some actually new information out of them. much of the quotes that might seem provocative are essentially a rehashing of what they said to the a.v. club back in like, 2004. readers are under no obligation to troll the AVC archives, but the least myers could have done was cite tasha robinson, who it seems like did the work for him.
most of the truly new stuff is about the behind-the-scenes action throughout their time together in the 80s and 90s. interviews with producers; wardrobe, hair, and makeup women; friends-turned-writers; and of course, the lorne michaels yield things we finally don't already know, but unfortunately, even that isn't really what we want to know. these periphery characters give fine enough answers, but the kids, even if they hated each other, trusted each other in a way they didn't with almost everybody else, so there just isn't enough to be gleamed from people who weren't in the inner sanctum. outsider perspectives on the troupe, not the show, essentially restate what we've been told by the five: they were ornery, obstinate, and hilarious; a gang that took on each other as much as the rest of the world. the one particularly good exception is the through line of women "backstage" who frequently saw something in the kids and went out on a limb for them in worlds like HBO or the CBC. comedy, like many-an industry, has historically been a boys' club, and even beyond the five kids, the well-known secondary characters of their narrative are more men, so it was enjoyable to see how many of those "right place-right time" moments that have to happen to subjects of biographies were indeed facilitated by women. female comedy peers and women who worked at the show's various networks are, to me, the best at succinctly capturing what makes the kids special.
when discussing the sketches and characters of the eponymous tv show, myers doesn't flex much knowledge of their extensive back catalog. old standards like chicken lady, buddy cole, or simon & hecubus get their origin stories—stories they've all very much told before, whether in interviews or providing commentary for the KITH dvds—but it would have been nice to hear what inspired some of their other great, if less obvious, sketches. (i will concede that some of this is me being crotchety about the fact that NO ONE seems to want to talk to bruce about tammy, which is what my interview with him would consist entirely of.) nor does myers seem interested in prodding at some of their more questionable characters in any meaningful way; in this portrait, the kids are somehow both provocateurs of humor and mythologized figures who have only made the mistake of sticking to their comedy guns, conveyed more as a sign of integrity than a real flaw. but the fact is, the kids dealt, and still deal, in a lot of racism in their quest for strange comedy; i continue to find it incredibly weird that no one will ask mark mckinney—or the others, but mark had a specific recurring character—about the blackface. so much of the kids in the hall still plays as fresh and weird as it did 30 years ago, both resonant and challenging—the reason these more-than-middle aged men no longer confined to a hall are still being watched and written about—but some of it doesn't, though you'd never know it reading myers' uncritical look at their oeuvre.
i think it says a lot that all of the quotes on either the cover or the first few pages are about the troupe, not the book. i suppose 'the authorized biography' isn't the place where someone's going to press hard and make stuff uncomfortable. and it is no requirement of a biography to interrogate a legacy beyond legendary sketch comedy troupe, though in my opinion, not doing so means you simply did the bare minimum of the assignment, which means you get a C. but hey, C's get degrees and apparently also, really enviable book deals. it's really no fault of myers' that this book was fun to read and it doesn't seem like he asked anything interesting, but lucky for him, the kids are still ridiculously funny guys who really thrive on making each other laugh, and they've got a compelling narrative, no matter who's writing it. but based on what we do know, that narrative has been uncomfortable sometimes, and one dumb guy ultimately doesn't have enough new information on their history or new insights on their body of work to be truly satisfying. perhaps i'm too big a fan, but i also feel like that's who's picking this book up in the first place. we're the only ones who could enjoy it, but by that very nature, we can't. there is a charming irony there, one i'm sure the kids would find humor in.