Chances are pretty good that [if you live in New York] you’ve never watched an entire episode The New Yorkers, a talk show only by the very loosest definition, and a long-running Manhattan Access marvel.
Chances are even better that [if you live in New York], you have watched a few seconds of it, wondered what in the hell you were looking at, and then moved on.
You’ve never heard of the guests. The host, the eternal James Chladek, wears the same mustard-colored suit, vintage 80s computer glasses, and a slightly dazed smile on every show A mysterious person yells from off camera. Sometimes you hear him, sometimes you don’t. I like to think of him as invisible.
Chladek’s interview style is sort of akin to a slightly drunk relative or an uninspired guidance counselor. Here’s a transcripted sample from one of the links below:
GUEST: I was a drummer–
CHLADEK: What do you mean you were a drummer?
GUEST: I played drums.
Inevitably Chladek will get hung up on some thoroughly uninteresting detail, and work it to death, like a child tearing up pieces of grass on a field.
He will gently but forcibly inquire as to what a guest’s real job is, or where they are staying in New York, and then you witness a human being deflate like a microwaved pastry as they answer, “I am a receptionist,” or “I’m staying in Jersey.”
Over the years I have learned many things from The New Yorkers. They’ve had the youngest person to perform an autopsy in Australia, who is now a strange and compelling woman who recommends you regularly cleanse so that your internal organs do not stink when they’re forcibly removed from your body. When I find this clip, I will save it and never ever throw it away.
At some point, and I wish that I had taped this, a guest revealed that she made met Chladek while he was the camera man for a pornographic film, which she was in. Amazingly, he didn’t blush, balk, stammer, or squirm. Same smile as always.
He is a rock. A mustard-colored rock.
I first heard about The New Yorker’s in 1995, when a friend who writing short fiction at the time told me that she was going to be on, “This weird old guy’s show. I don’t know, it’s like Late Night with Bob or something.”
My mental impression of hearing this, having known nothing about the show, is nearly identical to how I feel about it after having watched it for years: It is weird and alienating and in that sense, thrilling.
I haven’t watched any public access in a long, long time, and my blood pressure is finally at a normal level and I can sleep at night without screaming. But you, dear reader, are young and vital. Come! Face the public access, and confront the ugly truths of the world.
SHOW HIGHLIGHTS
Hrmm. Mrmrmrm. Whatever. Some suspicions regarding the internet and word usage, profound confusion after a video clip, and general disinterest during the
