Okay, let's unpack this. We are standing at the
edge of a cliff today. Oh, absolutely. Or maybe
more accurately, we're standing at the entrance
of a basement bar for the very last time. That's
a great way to put it. Because we're looking
at the end of an era. And I really don't use
that phrase lightly. No, you shouldn't. It really
is a massive, significant moment in television
history. I mean, we are talking about a show
that didn't just exist on the schedule. It completely...
Right. It essentially defined a decade. Exactly.
So for you listening, we are taking a deep dive
today into the 11th and final season of the legendary
sitcom Cheers. Yeah. And to set the scene for
you, we are mentally transporting ourselves back
to the early 90s. Specifically, this season aired
on NBC from September 24th, 1992 to May 20th,
1993. Which is just a fascinating cultural window.
It is. You've got the Chicago Bulls in the middle
of their first three -peat. Bill Clinton is in
the process of being elected president. And on
Thursday nights, America, and I mean practically
all of America, is just parking itself in front
of the TV. It was a completely different time
in terms of television consumption. We throw
around the term water cooler shows now. Yeah,
we do. But back in 1992, if you didn't watch
Cheers on Thursday night, you basically didn't
exist at work on Friday morning. You couldn't
participate in the culture. Oh, completely. You'd
just be standing there nodding while everyone
else talked about it. And our mission for this
deep dive is pretty specific. We aren't just
going to sit here and recap the jokes for you.
No, that wouldn't do it justice. Right. We have
a stack of data in front of us, primarily the
detailed Wikipedia records of season 11. And
what we want to do is explore exactly how a titan
of television says goodbye. Yeah. We want to
look at how the writers deliberately dismantled
the status quo, the absolutely bizarre storylines
they finally felt free to write. Some of them
are truly wild. I mean, we are going to talk
about biospheres and literal arson today. Yes,
we are. And, of course, the staggering cultural
impact of that grand finale. When we say staggering,
the numbers in our source material. really, really
back that up. They absolutely do. And we are
going to get into those numbers in just a second.
But first, just to orient everyone, we are looking
at this core ensemble one last time. The heavy
hitters. Yeah. The return of the core cast. We
don't really need to list their character names.
If you're taking this deep dive with us, you
know exactly who they are. But the actors, Danson,
Allie, Perlman, Ratzenberger, Harrelson, Grammer,
Newworth, Wendt. Right. They're all here. And
the showrunners, Tom Anderson and Dan O'Shannon,
are at the helm. But what's really interesting
is the state of this cast at this specific moment.
It's a very transitional state. Exactly. They've
been doing this for a decade. They're undeniably
tired. They are extremely rich. And they are
basically ready to move on. That's the key to
understanding this season. By season 11, the
actors had outgrown the characters in a lot of
ways. Right. You have Woody Harrelson actively
transitioning into a genuine movie star right
in the middle of this. You have Ted Danson vocalizing
that he's looking for something new. So Anderson
and O'Shannon had this nearly impossible task
of steering this massive, heavy ship into the
harbor without crashing it into the docks. So
let's look at the lay of the land first. Setting
the table with segment one here, the ratings
juggernaut. Because looking at this source material,
the very first thing that jumps out is that this
show was not limping to the finish line. Not
at all. It was sprinting. Completely sprinting.
If you look at the viewership data provided in
our records, it's actually difficult to comprehend
by modern standards. Well, walk us through the
numbers game here. Because today, a massive hit
show on network TV gets what? Maybe three or
four million live viewers? They are incredibly
lucky. Yeah. But looking at the season 11 logs.
Throughout the entire season, the U .S. viewership
regularly hovered between 22 and 29 million viewers.
22 to 29 million for a regular run -of -the -mill
weekly episode. That's essentially a small country
tuning in every single Thursday. It really is.
And for some context, let's look at the season
opener, The Little Match Girl. That aired on
September 24, 1992. Okay. That specific episode
pulled in 28 .7 million viewers. Nearly 29 million
people tuning in. to see how the final season
begins. And it's crucial to note that it wasn't
just premiere hype. Sometimes it shows spikes
for the premiere and then fades. Right. But if
you look late in the season, specifically, episode
23, Rebecca Gaines, Rebecca Loses, which aired
May 6th, 1993, so right before the very end.
Yeah. That episode hit. 30 .8 million viewers.
30 .8. That is wild. It's actually gaining significant
momentum as it goes, because usually by season
11 of any show, you see a massive drag off, don't
you? Almost always. It's referred to as franchise
fatigue. The audience usually drifts away. They
find something newer, something shinier on another
network. But Cheers in season 11 was performing
at a level that would literally be considered
a Super Bowl number in today's fragmented media
landscape. This wasn't a show. being put out
of its misery. This was a victory lap. Right.
Frankly, NBC would have happily kept this show
going for another five years if Ted Danson hadn't
pulled the plug. It's the absolute definition
of going out on top. But I noticed something
really interesting in the production notes here.
While the ratings were rock steady, the cast
configuration wasn't exactly perfect. It feels
like there was some logistical friction behind
the scenes. You're referring to the Woody anomaly.
Yes. The Woody anomaly. The source material explicitly
notes that Woody Harrelson does not appear in
certain episodes this season. Right. Specifically,
he's missing from episode four, The Magnificent
Six, and episode 13, Norm's Big Audit. And he
only appears in the cold open of episode 14,
It's a Mad Max. Right. So think about that. Here
you have this massive ratings juggernaut. But
one of your key players, maybe the single most
popular character at that specific moment in
pop culture, is just completely missing for chunks
of the final run. What do you make of that? It's
the harsh reality of Hollywood crashing into
the sitcom fantasy. You have to remember the
context of 1992 and 1993. Woody Harrelson is
blowing up globally. Right. He's everywhere.
White Men Can't Jump had just come out. and was
a massive hit, he's actively filming Indecent
Proposal. He is making that very rare, very difficult
transition from TV star to movie star, and those
shooting schedules simply do not align. It must
have been an absolute nightmare for the writer's
room. Oh, undoubtedly. And you can see the strain
of the scripts if you look closely. When Woody
isn't there, who carries that specific comedic
load? Yeah. The lovable, naive energy is just
completely missing. It forces them to lean much
heavier on the Sam and Rebecca dynamic, or they
have to give Cliff and Norm significantly more
screen time to compensate. It definitely changes
the flavor of the show. It reminds you that even
though the series is this well -oiled machine,
the actual human parts are moving on before the
show formally ends. Precisely. It's like watching
a band starting to break up right before the
final encore. That's a great analogy. It's a
subtle... almost subconscious signal of the end.
You're watching this perfect ecosystem struggling
to sustain itself because its components are
literally becoming too big for the container.
Speaking of breaking the container, let's move
into segment two and talk about how they actually
started the season. Because if you're a writer
and you know this is the definitive end, you
want to make a statement. Absolutely. And boy,
did they make a statement here. Burning down
the house, literally and figuratively. You're
talking about the premiere episode. The little
match girl. Yes. Talk about a metaphor to kick
things off. It's episode one. We are back for
the highly anticipated final season. The audience
is pumped. And what happens? Rebecca decides
to quit smoking. Which is a very noble goal.
It is. And it's very much on brand for Rebecca's
constant frantic attempts at self -improvement.
Right. But then she throws a lit cigarette into
the office trash can. Yep. And she inadvertently
burns down the bar. It's such a shocking way
to start a season. It's completely explosive.
I mean, you have the fire marshal assessing the
damage, but think about the psychology of the
writers in that room. You have this iconic set
the bar itself. Yeah. It's been the physical
home for 10 years. It's probably the most famous
recognizable room in America at that point. And
in the very first script of the final season,
they just torch it. If we connect this to the
bigger narrative picture, it feels incredibly
metaphorical. Fire is traditionally a symbol
of cleansing, of rebirth, but obviously of destruction,
too. Right. By burning the bar down right out
of the gate, they are loudly signaling to the
audience that things are not going to stay the
same. The sanctuary is vulnerable now. It's a
massive disruption of the safe space of the sitcom.
Because usually in a traditional sitcom, the
set is sacred. It never changes. But here, they
destroy the main hub immediately. And look at
what that destruction does to the characters.
That's the real genius of it. The aftermath in
episode two, the beer is always greener, is just
as emotionally disruptive. Right, because the
bar is actively being rebuilt, so they can't
just sit around on their stools drinking all
day. Exactly. Carla, the famously mean, venomous,
aggressive waitress, she has to go out and find
another job while the bar is closed. And our
source notes that she is, quote, forced to clean
up her act and behave nicely. Which is fundamentally
against her very DNA. It's hilarious watching
Rhea Perlman try to force herself to be polite,
but it's also kind of sad, isn't it? It really
is. But that is the brilliance of stripping away
the physical bar. It reveals the characters'
deep dependencies on their environment. Carla
is only truly Carla because Cheers allows her
to be that way. Right. Take away that specific
bar, and she has to wear this incredibly uncomfortable
mask of niceness just to survive in the normal
world. It highlights how the bar actually protects
them from reality. Without it, they are just
deeply dysfunctional people who can barely hold
down a regular job. Exactly. And once that protection
is gone, even temporarily due to the fire, we
see how ill -equipped they are for the outside
world. It perfectly sets the stakes for the finale.
If the bar ever closes for good, these people
are doomed. Well, if we want to talk about being
ill -equipped for reality, we absolutely have
to move to segment three, the deconstruction
of the Cranes. Oh boy. Because this season, the
writers didn't just burn down the bar, they took
a massive sledgehammer to Frasier Crane's entire
life. This is arguably the most significant,
long -lasting narrative arc of the entire season.
And frankly, it is the most bizarre. It is a
complete train wreck, and I just cannot look
away from it. It starts relatively normally with
episode six, Teaching with the Enemy. Right,
which is part one of a two -part arc. Rebecca
spots Lilith Frasier's wife, the mother of his
child, with another man, the other man. And she
faces this major moral dilemma, does she tell
Frasier. Which is fascinating because it puts
Rebecca, who is usually the most self -centered
character on the show, in a very rare position
of moral authority. Yeah, that's a great point.
But honestly, that's just the appetizer. The
main course is episode seven, The Girl in the
Plastic Bubble. Yes. Now, I have to stop here
because when I was reading this in the source
notes, I genuinely thought I was hallucinating.
It is certain. Well, it's a choice. the plot
is lilith informs fraser she wants to leave him
okay sad but realistic TV marriages end, but
why does she want to leave him? It's not for
a colleague. It's not for a richer man. She leaves
him to live in a quote -unquote biosphere underground
with her lover for a year. An ecopod. An ecopod.
Subterranean. It sounds like pure science fiction
crashing headfirst into a grounded sitcom. It's
almost Looney Tunes logic. It really is. I mean,
try to imagine that pitch meaning, okay, guys,
Lilith leaves Frasier. Oh, sad for another psychiatrist.
No, to live in a plastic bubble underground.
Right. And then the image the source specifically
described, a distraught Frazier, ends up on a
ledge feigning suicide. It's very dark comedy.
And they pushed it to the absolute limit. But
let's analyze why they actually did this. Because
I don't think this was just random late stage
wackiness. Okay, what's your theory? Lilith and
Frazier were the ultimate power couple. They
were the smug intellectuals who constantly looked
down on the bar patrons. To break them up effectively,
the writers couldn't just have an amicable, normal
divorce. It had to be something so profoundly
absurd, so... utterly humiliating for Frasier
that it completely shattered his ego. But isn't
it a bit much? I mean, having Frasier out on
a ledge threatening to jump, even if he's feigning
it, it kind of threatens to pull the show out
of reality entirely. I definitely see your point.
But you have to remember what is coming next
in the real world. The network already knows
that Frasier, the spinoff series, is happening.
Oh, right. They need to physically get Frasier
from Boston to Seattle. And crucially... They
need him to be single when he gets there. So
this entire bizarre arc is basically a targeted
demolition job. 100%. They have to destroy his
comfortable life in Boston so thoroughly that
he has absolutely no reason to stay there. If
Lilith just divorces him normally, he might logically
stay in Boston to co -parent Frederick. That
makes sense. But if she completely loses her
mind and runs off to a subterranean ecopod with
a wacky lover, that's deep trauma. That is a
massive burn the bridges moment. It certainly
accomplished that. And it really does leave him
adrift. If you look at the episodes following
this incident, Frasier is effectively single
for the rest of the series. And honestly, he's
kind of a huge mess. He is totally spiraling.
Look at episode 12, Sunday dinner. He's trying
to desperately date his very young secretary,
Shauna. Which is such a classic, tragic midlife
crisis move. It's actually painful to read about.
It is. And then it gets even messier in episode
16. Is there a doctor in the how? A surprise
party for Frasier leads to him and Rebecca getting,
well, a little too close. Yeah, the source notes
that things go a bit further than expected. Which
is just, it's so messy. Frasier and Rebecca,
that screams sheer desperation from both of them.
It does. It feels exactly like two drowning people
just grabbing onto each other because there's
nothing else around. And then right when he's
at his lowest, we get the closure of the arc
in episode 17. The bar manager, the shrink, his
wife and her lover. Lilith returns from the ecopod.
The underground experiment is over. Apparently
so. And of course, she walks in and finds Rebecca
actively consoling Frasier. But the really key
detail here that our source points out, this
is the final appearance of Bebe Neuwirth as Dr.
Lilith Sternen on Cheers. That's a huge deal.
Bebe Neuwirth was absolutely incredible in that
role. She won Emmys for it. She was phenomenal.
And her exit here is fascinating. Her lover from
the Ecopod actually takes extreme measures to
get her back underground with him. But effectively,
she exits the show's main narrative for good
right here. So if we step back and look at the
whole picture, this season systematically dismantled
Frasier Crane's life piece by piece. Completely.
Yeah. And I think that's absolutely crucial for
the long term legacy of the character. If Frasier
ends Cheers happily married to Lilith. There
is no Fraser the spinoff. They had to utterly
destroy his happiness in Boston to make him movable.
They had to break him down completely so they
could build him back up in a new city. It's ruthless
writing when you think about it. It's like, sorry,
Fraser, your immense emotional pain is just necessary
for our franchise expansion. That's the cold
reality of show business. It really is. Now,
while Fraser's life was turning into a Greek
tragedy, the writers seemed to be having a lot
of fun with some truly bizarre concepts elsewhere.
Which brings us to segment four. I like to call
this absurdity and senioritis in the writer's
room. I love that title. There's a definite sense
of senioritis going on. And I mean that in the
best, most creative way possible. Yeah. It really
feels like the writers suddenly realized, hey.
We can do whatever we want. Who's going to stop
us? We're the number one show. We're ending in
May anyway. Let's just get weird. Let's get weird
is almost an understatement based on these notes.
Let's look at episode 11, Love Me, Love My Car.
Now, the main plot is about Sam, which we'll
get to later, but the subplot. Oh, no. Rebecca
actively befriends a pig. A pig that is destined
to be Woody's Christmas dinner. A live, squealing
pig inside the bar. It's high concept absurdity.
It feels like a plot line straight out of Green
Acres, not the sophisticated rapid fire repartee
that Cheers was known for. And then you have
episode nine feelings. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Cliff
Clavin starts a rumor. Now, we know Cliff always
starts rumors. That's his thing. But what is
this specific rumor? He tells people that Adolf
Hitler has secretly moved into his apartment
building. That is just, it's a remarkably bold
choice for a sitcom subplot. It's insane. Cliff
telling people Hitler is his neighbor. Even for
a character as eccentric as Cliff, that seems
like a massive stretch of reality. It does, but
it highlights the extreme eccentricity of Cliff's
character as the years went on. It also shows
the writers actively pushing the boundaries.
Right. They're basically testing to see exactly
how far they can bend the reality of the show
before it completely snaps. And then we have
episode 14. It's a mad, mad, mad bar. Which is
a very clear, deliberate homage to the classic
film. It's a mad, mad, mad, mad world. Exactly.
The gang completely tears the bar apart, literally
flipping the place upside down because they are
desperately looking for Robin Colcord's hidden
money. It's pure, unadulterated slapstick. It's
intense physical comedy. And our source notes
it also marks the very last appearance of Roger
Rees as Robin Colcord. But my absolute favorite
example of this senioritis satire where the writers
just decide to relentlessly roast society is
episode 21. Woody gets an election. Ah, yes.
The political satire episode. The premise is
just gold. Frazier wants to run an experiment
in voter psychology. He basically wants to prove
that the voting public are complete idiots, that
they will mindlessly vote for anyone with a nice
smile. But our source explicitly notes that he
does this because he, quote, couldn't find a
monkey. Right. He couldn't find a monkey to run.
So he uses Woody instead. The next best thing,
at least in Frazier's mind. So he formally runs
Woody for city council against a seasoned incumbent.
And what happens? Against all logic, Woody wins.
Woody actually wins the election. Now, this is
where I think the show actually gets really sharp.
It's a classic comedic trope. The lovable idiot
failing upwards. Sure. But used here, this late
in the final season, it feels like a really biting
commentary on modern politics. The guy who literally
thinks an ecopod is a type of vegetable connects
with the voters way better than the educated
intellectual. I have to push back on this being
just a standard trope, though, because isn't
it a bit cynical for a show like Cheers? Usually
the show has a very warm heart. Having Woody
accidentally win an election he doesn't even
understand feels almost mean spirited toward
the democratic process. I can see why you'd say
that. But look at the specific year. Nineteen
ninety three. Broad political cynicism was really
rising in America. OK, fair point. The idea that
a guy you'd want to have a beer with is somehow
better suited for office than a policy wonk was
becoming a very real, pervasive political sentiment.
I think the writers were using Woody to say something
very sharp about the electorate rather than just
making fun of Woody's intelligence. That makes
a lot of sense. And it's hilarious either way.
Plus, it gives Woody a brand new status by the
end of the show, Councilman Boyd. Which is a
really nice setup for his future, too. Yeah.
He's not just the naive bartender anymore. He's
an actual public official. God help the city
of Boston. Seriously, God help us all. Okay,
let's move to segment five and discuss something
a bit more combative. We've had fires. We've
had divorces. We've had pigs. Now we have war.
The war of the bars. Yes. Bar Wars 7th. The Naked
Prey. Episode 19. Now, the Bar Wars episodes
were a deeply beloved tradition on the show.
Cheers versus Gary's Old Town Tavern. Every single
season, the pranks got more and more elaborate.
They were legendary. And this one, this one goes
completely nuclear. It starts with a bet for
St. Patrick's Day, and Cheers loses the bet.
And the penalty for losing is... Well, it's severe.
They must perform completely naked for Gary's
patrons. Talk about high stakes. So Sam knows
he needs a ringer. He realizes he can't possibly
outsmart Gary on his own this time. So he calls
in the ultimate weapon. Harry the Hat gets. Played
brilliantly by Harry Anderson. Yeah. A huge fan
favorite. Harry the Hat hadn't actually been
seen on the show in years. So this was a massive,
highly anticipated callback for longtime fans.
Right. And Harry declines at first. He claims
he's, quote unquote, went straight. But then
things get crazy. Gary's bar is bulldozed. Completely
flattened to the ground. Destroyed. Sam is terrified.
He genuinely thinks Gary did it himself. Like
maybe it's an elaborate insurance scam or he
forced a sale just to frame Cheers. But then
the real twist comes. It is a brilliant double
cross. wrapped inside a triple cross. Gary introduces
the wealthy real estate developer that he supposedly
sold the land to. And who walks in the door?
Harry the Hat. Harry bought the land. He was
the one who bulldozed Gary's bar. It is a stunning
escalation of the usual prank war. Usually they
just dump a bunch of sheep in the bar or dye
the draft beer blue. Yeah. Here, Harry literally
destroys the man's entire livelihood. But here
is the absolute kicker from the source. Harry
cheerfully announces that the check he wrote
to Gary for the land is going to bounce. He used
a fake alias. So Gary has absolutely no bar.
And Gary has absolutely no money. And Cheers
wins by default. It is the ultimate victory.
The game just luxuriates in it. They are celebrating
the total, utter destruction of their bitter
rival. Until... Until Sam realizes that Harry
quietly robbed the Cheers cash register on his
way out the door. I love that line. I'm a little
light here, Sammy. I love that ending so much.
It is the absolute perfect send -off for the
Harry the Hat character. He wins. And everyone
else loses. He is the ultimate agent of chaos.
He absolutely destroys the rival, but he still
taxes his friends. Yeah. It's remarkably consistent
character work right up to the very end. It is.
It reminds us that in the world of Cheers, nobody
is purely good. Even the supposed hero of the
episode is a compulsive thief. It really is great
writing. Okay, we need to shift gears for segment
six. Relationships and closure. We've talked
about all the chaos, but we need to talk about
the actual heart of the show. Because amidst
all the pigs and bulldozers, there were some
really heavy emotional beats this season. Specifically
regarding our main guy, Sam Malone. Sam is the
anchor of the whole series. And Sam is visibly
struggling this season. We see it clearly in
episode four, The Magnificent Six. Henri, the
younger French guy, challenges Sam to a ladies'
man contest to see who can get the most phone
numbers. Which, if you think about it, feels
a bit pathetic at this stage, doesn't it? Sam
is in his mid -40s now, competing with a guy
in his 20s over bar napkins with phone numbers.
It really does. It feels deeply desperate. You
can see Sam realizing in real time that his cool
guy schtick is starting to look a little sad
and dated. And then you look at episode 11, Love
Me, Love My Car. Sam actively romances a widow,
played by Dana Delaney, just to buy back his
old Corvette. This episode really struck me when
reviewing the notes. He sold the car earlier
in the series, deeply regrets it, tracks it down,
and realizes the new owner has died. So his solution
is to date the grieving widow just to get close
to the car. That is such a crucial character
note. He is desperately chasing his youth. That
Corvette physically represents the Mayday Malone
era. The baseball pitching, the perfect hair,
the endless youth. He is literally willing to
manipulate a grieving woman just to get his favorite
toy back. It shows his massive attachment to
the past. He is terrified of aging. But then
we get a moment of real, genuine reflection.
Episode 25, The Guy Can't Help It, Sam finally
joins a support group. For sexual compulsives.
That feels like a massive breakthrough for him.
It absolutely is. For 11 straight years, Sam's
compulsive womanizing was the main joke. It was
celebrated by the bar. Sammy's got a date. Yeah,
they cheered him on. But here... Right at the
very end of this series, this show finally acknowledges
it as a real compulsion. Something that might
actually be a serious problem. Something that
is keeping him fundamentally lonely. Some moment
of maturity that we hadn't really seen from him
before. Meanwhile, as Sam is maturing, Rebecca
is just spiraling out of control. Her year is
chaotic from start to finish. She quits smoking,
which, as we discussed, causes a massive fire.
She gets dangerously obsessed with a slot machine
in Episode 3, The King of Beers. She's expecting
a huge proposal from her plumber boyfriend Don
in One for the Road. And in Rebecca Gaines. Rebecca
loses. She completely misinterprets an innocent
society invite from Kelly's wealthy father as
a romantic date. She is so desperate for high
status and financial stability, and she just
keeps missing the mark. It's painful to watch,
but it's also very funny. Christy Alley was just
so good at playing that frantic, neurotic desperation.
She was the absolute perfect foil to Sam's laid
-back cool. And then we have Cliff Clavin, episode
24. Cliff's murder mystery. This one is classic
sitcom farce. Cliff decides to put his mother
in a retirement home. Esther Clavin, the absolute
bane of his existence. Right. And because Cliff
feels incredibly guilty about it, he's acting
weird. He's being very evasive with his answers.
So the bar gang, being the wonderfully supportive
friends they are, immediately thinks. They think
he violently murdered her. Naturally. They immediately
jump to the conclusion that Cliff Clavin, the
harmless mailman, has gone full psycho. It's
a classic misunderstanding plot, sure, but it
actually permanently resolves the toxic Cliff
and mom dynamic. He finally makes a difficult
adult decision for his own life, even if the
gang thinks he's a matricidal maniac for a few
days. It shows that even Cliff is trying to grow
up in his own weird, twisted way. Which brings
us finally to the big one. Segment seven, the
grand finale. One for the road. May 20th, 1993.
The ultimate cultural event of the year. The
source data lists the official viewership at
80 .4 million. 80 .4 million people. Let that
sink in. To put that incredibly massive number
in perspective, that is roughly the entire population
of Germany at the time, all simultaneously watching
a sitcom finale. Everyone in the country was
watching. I mean, I remember exactly where I
was. You probably remember where you were. It
is consistently cited as one of the top 10 most
watched scripted TV finales of all time. And
the immense pressure on the writers must have
been crushing. How do you definitively end a
show about a place where the whole premise is
that nobody ever leaves? So let's break down
what actually happens. First, the return. Diane
Chambers returns to Boston. Shelley Long is back.
This was heavily rumored, but it was still the
biggest secret in Hollywood. And she supposedly
won a major award for her television writing.
She seems incredibly successful. But, as is typical
with Diane Chambers, her life isn't exactly as
glamorous as it appears on the surface. The source
implies the success might be a bit exaggerated.
Her life is still deeply messy. And this unexpected
return perfectly triggers the central conflict
for Sam. The ultimate will -they -won't -they
playing out one last time. Sam is potentially
leaving Cheers for good. He seriously considers
moving to California to be with her. The dramatic
tension was incredibly high for the audience.
People genuinely didn't know if Sam would actually
go through with it. It felt like a true 50 -50
shot at the time. But ultimately he stays. He
realizes finally that his true love isn't Diane,
it's the bar itself. That is the ultimate thesis
of the entire show. The romantic relationships
are fleeting and complicated, but the bar is
eternal. And we get nice little resolutions for
the rest of the gang too. Woody surprisingly
gets Norm a job. A civil service job, if I recall
the notes correctly, which is utterly terrifying.
Norm Peterson working for the city government.
Cliff finally gets a promotion at the post office.
Rebecca hopes to wed Don. She finally, definitively
chooses a normal working class guy over a rich,
manipulative tycoon, which is huge emotional
growth for her. She stops chasing the robin colcords
of the world and settles for the plumber who
actually loves her. And then there's the final
discussion. The core gang just sitting around
late at night, pondering the literal meaning
of life. It's surprisingly philosophically dense
for a network sitcom. They are genuinely asking
each other, what was this all for? And the legacy
of that moment. The source specifically notes
that the episode ends with a strong feeling that
their lives are going to go on. But the cameras
simply stops filming them. Sam straightens the
picture of Geronimo on the wall. He walks over
to the door. Someone knocks from the outside.
And he delivers that perfect final line. Sorry,
we're closed. It is the absolute perfect ending.
It doesn't blow up their world, even though they
quite literally burned it down earlier in the
season. It just gently says, the story continues,
but you don't get to watch them anymore. It's
incredibly intimate. It really is. It gives me
chills just thinking about it right now. So as
we head to the outro here, let's get your verdict
on season 11. I think based entirely on the massive
ratings data and the sheer density of the plot
resolution we've discussed, it unequivocally
stuck the landing. Yeah. It managed to beautifully
balance the absurd sitcom elements. The pigs,
the fires, hair, the hats, elaborate cons with
very genuine, heavy emotional stakes like divorce,
aging and marriage. It felt like a complete meal.
It didn't just quietly fizzle out like so many
shows do. It exploded. Then it rebuilt itself.
Then it finally closed its doors. It deeply respected
the audience that had been there for a decade.
It gave us the wackiness we expected, but it
gave us the emotional closure we actually needed.
I completely agree. But before we wrap up this
deep dive, here's a. Final provocative thought
for you and for you listening at home. We talked
earlier about the utter destruction of the Cranes.
Yes, we did. Consider the overall trajectory
of Frasier Crane this year. Season 11 systematically
destroyed every pillar of his life. His wife
abruptly leaves him for a man in an underground
bubble. He attempts, or at least feigns, suicide
on a ledge. He has these disastrous, humiliating
dates he has just humiliated over and over again.
It was brutal to watch. So the question is, was
the destruction of Frasier's happiness simply
the necessary cost of Cheers' season 11 comedy?
Or was it a highly calculated, deliberate demolition
to carefully clear the site for the massive Frasier
spinoff skyscraper that was about to be built?
Did Cheers literally have to break him so that
Frazier could fix him? That is the ultimate question,
isn't it? Yeah. Sometimes you really have to
hit absolute rock bottom before you can find
the motivation to move across the country to
Seattle. And sometimes, from a purely narrative
standpoint, a character practically has to die
in one show just to be successfully reborn in
another. Exactly. The Ecopod wasn't just a mistake.
It was the necessary launch pad. That's a really
brilliant way to put it. And on that note. Thanks
for taking this deep dive with us today. We're
officially closed for the night. See you next
time.