Hello and welcome back to the Deep Dive. Today
we are actually putting aside the history books
and the scientific journals to focus on something
that I think a lot of us hold near and dear to
our hearts. We're looking at a very specific
slice of pop culture history. Yeah, we are. We're
talking about arguably the absolute peak of 90s
sitcom television. We are talking about Frasier.
But, you know, not just the show in general.
We're zooming in with a microscope on season
five. Which is such a fascinating choice. You
know, usually when people talk about Frasier,
they talk about the pilot or they talk about
the finale. Or maybe they just quote lines about
sherry and tossed salads. Right. Exactly. But
focusing on season five specifically, that is
where the gold is buried. Literally and figuratively.
Literally gold. And before we get into the why
of it all, let's just set the stage for you listening
at home. We are transporting ourselves back to
late 1997. The season premiered on September
23rd, 1997 on NBC. Which was a massive time for
NBC. Huge. Seinfeld is winding down its final
season. Friends is absolutely huge. And here
is this show about a snooty Seattle psychiatrist
that is just completely dominating the landscape.
It wasn't just dominating. It was evolving. If
you were watching NBC in September of 97 and
you tuned in for the premiere, you might have
noticed something different right away. The title
card. Exactly. The title card. For four years,
the word Frazier came up on the screen in different
colors. It was blue, red. Purple. Yeah. But in
season five, it was gold. Just solid gold. That
feels like a massive flex. Oh, it was absolutely
flex. It was a victory lap before the race even
started. Because at this point, the show had
won the Emmy for Outstanding Comedy Series four
years in a row. That's practically unheard of.
It really is. And spoiler alert, they would go
on to win it for this season, too, making it
five. They were completely untouchable. Yeah.
But the mission of our deep dive today isn't
just to list their awards. No, we want to figure
out how a show that could have easily just coasted
on its massive success decided instead to just,
well, blow everything up. Blow everything up
is the perfect way to phrase it. It sounds a
little dramatic for a show that's mostly known
for, you know, opera jokes and wine tasting.
It is dramatic. But just look at the arc of this
season. We are exploring how they balanced high
farce. Like the classic door slamming comedy
they were famous for with massive irreversible
life changes. This is the season where they really
took the safety nets away. So we're essentially
talking about the death of the status quo. That's
exactly what it is. We have Roz Doyle's life
turning completely upside down. We have the total
painful deconstruction of Niles' marriage. We
have Martin facing his own mortality. And then
a season finale that literally destroys the character's
workplace. Yeah, if you think Frasier is just
comfy, safe television, season five really challenges
that notion. So I want to start with one of the
biggest shocks to the system, the evolution of
Roz Doyle. Let's call this the pregnancy arc.
This was a massive shift for the show. Up until
this point, Roz is the quintessential single
girl in the city. She's the gritty counterpoint
to Frasier's stuffiness. Right. She's dating.
She's having fun. She's a bit cynical. Yeah.
And so giving her a baby, that fundamentally
changes the DNA of the entire show. And it all
kicks off in the episode titled Halloween. Now,
I rewatched this recently, and it is just chaotic.
Halloween is an absolute masterclass in sitcom
structure. It aired October 28th, 97, and the
setting is crucial here. Niles is throwing a
literary -themed Halloween party. Of course he
is, because a regular Halloween party would be
too pedestrian for Niles Crane. Exactly. So everyone
is dressed as characters from literature. Niles
is Cyrano de Bergerac. Frazier is Jeffrey Chaucer.
It's pretentious, it's highbrow, and it is the
absolute perfect backdrop for a very gritty,
real -world problem. Which is that Roz fears
she might be pregnant. Right. And Frazier, being
Frazier, decides to drag her to this party to
distract her. Which seems like a terrible idea
from the start. It's a horrible idea. But just
watch how the writers use the party mechanics.
Frazier gets drunk, which is pretty rare for
him, and he accidentally leaks the information
that... Roz might be pregnant. But he doesn't
just get up on a table and I don't sit. No, it
slips out in conversation. And because everyone
is in costume and everyone is drinking, it turns
into this incredible game of telephone. Oh, right.
I remember this. People start whispering and
the rumor just morphs completely out of control.
Precisely. The rumor shifts from Roz is pregnant
to Frazier got Roz pregnant to Daphne is pregnant.
It's a complete farce engine. The gossip moves
so much faster than the truth. And it's hilarious.
But then we get to the key moment. Amidst all
this silliness, all these layered literary puns,
Roz steps in. She literally cuts the tension.
She stops the music. She interrupts Frasier,
who is desperately trying to do damage control
at this point, and she just says it. She's heard
from her doctor. She is pregnant. It's a total
record scratch moment. It is. The laughter completely
dies in the room. The farce evaporates. It's
the writers directly telling the audience, okay,
the jokes are over. This is real now. It's such
a brilliant tonal shift. Oh, and I wanted to
bring up a fun little trivia nugget here from
the sources. The character Eve at the party,
that's Camille Donatacci. She had actually married
Kelsey Grammer just two months before this episode
aired. Talk about keeping it in the family. Right.
And wasn't there a famous guest caller in this
one, too? There was. Cindy Crawford calls into
the radio show as Dorothy. It just goes to show
you the sheer cultural cachet the show had at
that time. Supermodels were literally lining
up to be hung up on by Frasier Crane. Amazing.
So the bomb is dropped. Roz is pregnant. But
the very next episode, which is called The Kid,
is where the reality of the situation really
sets in. Because now she has to deal with the
father. And this is where we see that classic
class conflict that Frasier loves to play with.
Because Roz is a professional. She's a radio
producer. She's in her 30s. And the father. Rick,
the waiter. Right, Rick, a 20 -year -old waiter
at Cafe Nervosa. Fraser just happens to spot
him by chance. And the casting here is so brilliant
because Rick isn't a bad guy. No, he's not a
villain at all. He's just young. He's this cheerful,
golden retriever of human being. Which honestly
makes the situation so much more uncomfortable
than if he were a jerk. Because if he were a
jerk, you could just write him off and say good
riddance. Exactly. You could dismiss him. But
when Roz tells him the news, Rick tries to do
the noble thing. He offers to drop out of college.
He offers to marry her. He really tries to step
up. And this is the pivot moment, right? This
is where Roz becomes a completely different character
in the eyes of the audience. It really is. I
mean, a lesser show would have dragged this conflict
out for half a season or had them awkwardly try
to date. But Roz looks at this kid. and he really
is a kid and she realizes that letting him ruin
his future to support her would be a massive
mistake for both of them so she tells him to
stay in school she effectively sends him away
she chooses to be a single mother and you have
to remember in 1997 on network television that
was a very strong choice It wasn't quite Murphy
Brown levels of controversy, but it was still
highly significant. Yeah, she displays a maturity
that we really hadn't seen from her before. She
stops being just the wisecracking sidekick and
starts becoming a matriarch. And we see that
fully pay off at the end of the season in the
episode The Life of the Party. Right, which takes
us to May of 98. The baby arrives. But look at
the context of the episode. Roz is at a singles
party that Niles and Frasier are throwing. Yes,
she's heavily pregnant. She's feeling huge. She
feels completely invisible to men. It's actually
a very vulnerable and honest look at late stage
pregnancy. And then, of course, her water breaks
at the party. It's a standard sitcom trope, for
sure. But the payoff isn't the birth itself.
It's the scene afterward at the hospital. If
you look at who is looking through the nursery
window at baby Alice Mae Doyle. It's the gang.
It's Frazier, Niles, Martin and Daphne. The work
family. It completely solidifies that these people
are her village now. Rick isn't there. Her parents
aren't there. The Cranes are there. It entirely
redefines the ensemble dynamic for the rest of
the series. It's incredibly sweet. OK, so Roz
is building a brand new life. But on the flip
side of that coin, we have Niles Crane, who is
essentially watching his life burn to the ground.
Let's dig into the deconstruction of Niles Crane.
This is truly the heavy emotional lifting of
season five, because for four years. Maris was
just a joke. She was this unseen, cartoonish
villain. Yeah, she was just a collection of bizarre
eccentricities. She can't produce saliva. She
fits through the bars of a wrought iron gate.
We just laughed at her. But this season, the
laughter abruptly stops. It turns into genuine
trauma. It starts with the episode The Zoo Story.
Niles is in couples counseling with Maris. And
we finally get a real glimpse of just how manipulative
she is as a person. Right. She wants Niles to
fire their therapist. Yes. And Niles thinks the
therapist is actually helping them, so he refuses.
Which is good for Niles for standing his ground.
It is good for Niles. It's a real spine -stiffening
moment for a character who is usually so submissive.
But Maris brutally punishes him for it. She cuts
off all conjugal visits. She literally uses intimacy
as a weapon to control him. Which is just dark.
It's really dark for a sitcom. It's abusive.
Let's just call it what it is. And Niles is really
struggling with it. But the real circuit breaker
comes later in the episode, the Maris counselor.
Oh, this episode. My heart breaks for Niles in
this one. He tries so hard. He plans this whole
romantic surprise for her. He does. He goes to
their house to surprise her in the bedroom. And
he discovers that Maris is having an affair.
But the twist, the absolute knife in the back,
is who she is having the affair with. Dr. Schenkman,
the therapist, the exact guy that Niles fought
so hard to keep. The very man Niles refused to
fire because of his own professional ethics.
It is a devastating double betrayal. And when
he's confronted, Shankman says something that
makes you realize just how deeply delusional
he is. Right. He calls Maris a selfless soul.
A selfless soul. I mean, Maris, selfless, it's
absurd. It highlights that Shankman is completely
under her spell. He's been manipulated just like
Niles was. But we really have to talk about David
Hyde Pierce's acting in this specific episode.
Because there is a scene where Niles fully breaks
down. Right. He's in a group therapy session
that Frasier is leading. Yes. Broasts in. And
if you just watch his face, it's incredible.
He starts by trying to intellectualize the whole
thing. He's a psychiatrist, right? So he uses
all these clinical words like transference and
displacement. He's manic. Totally manic. He's
desperately trying to diagnose his own heartbreak
so he doesn't actually have to feel it. But it
doesn't work. The clinical detachment fails him.
No, the facade completely cracks. He physically
collapses. And the show is brave enough to just
let it happen. There is a solid chunk of time
in that scene where there is absolutely no laugh
track. It's just a man. realizing his marriage
is a total sham. It's a sheer masterclass in
tragic comedy. So he leaves her. He finally finds
the strength to leave her. He signs the papers.
He walks away from the generational wealth, the
mansion, the urinal cakes with the family crest
on them. He becomes a man living in this jagged,
weird little apartment. He is entirely deconstructed.
But you know what they say. When one door closes,
another one opens. Or at least it cracks open
a little bit. We have to talk about Daphne. Because
season five is absolutely huge for the whole
will -they -weren't -they dynamic. It's completely
pivotal. With Maris officially out of the picture.
the main external obstacle is gone. Technically,
Niles is free, but the internal obstacle, which
is Niles' sheer terror of rejection, is very
much still there. Well, we mentioned Halloween
earlier. He actually proposed to her in that
episode. Drunk. He was very drunk. And he was
under the bizarre impression that she was the
one pregnant with Frasier's baby. And she needed
saving. Right. It was this weird white knight
complex gone terribly wrong. Exactly. But from
a storytelling perspective, it put the visual
image of Niles proposing to Daphne right into
the audience's head. It primed the pump. But
the real forward movement happens in the episode
First Date. This is such a fascinating psychological
study of Niles. He decides he's finally going
to ask her out. He pumps himself up. He talks
it through with Frasier. He is ready to do it.
And then chokes, completely freezes up. He freezes.
Daphne mentions that she likes some guy or says
something totally innocuous, and Niles just panics.
To protect his fragile ego, he invents a massive
lie on the spot. He says he's actually in love
with a neighbor named Phyllis. Which is wild.
Why does he do this? It seems so incredibly counterproductive
to his actual goal. It's a pure defense mechanism.
If he asks Daphne out and she says no, it destroys
him completely. If he pretends to like this fake
woman Phyllis, he's emotionally safe. But the
lie immediately spirals out of control. Because
Daphne, being the sweet, supportive friend she
is, offers to help him cook a romantic dinner
for Phyllis. So now he's cooking a complex seduction
dinner for a woman who does not exist alongside
the woman he is actually desperately in love
with. It's torture. It's hilarious, delicious
torture, and he actually has to recruit a real
neighbor to play Phyllis because the lie gets
so far out of hand. Yes, but Frasier, and this
is exactly why we love Frasier as the character
intervenes, he sees what's happening, and he
chases the real neighbor away by casually telling
her that Niles killed his first wife. He says
something like, he has a temper. It's brilliant,
and the result of that sabotage, the neighbor
flees in terror. Niles and Daphne are left completely
alone with this beautiful romantic dinner, and
they sit down and eat it together. So it actually
becomes a date? It's a proxy date. It allows
them to safely enact the ritual of dating without
any of the actual risk. It's a baby step, sure,
but it's the very first time they're really sitting
down as equals, sharing a romantic meal. It subtly
but permanently changes the energy between them.
Speaking of chaotic energy, we have to pivot
and talk about the ski lodge. Ah. The masterpiece
of the season. You called this the prime example
of the show's structural brilliance in the notes.
Now, for listeners who might just remember it
as the episode with the gay ski instructor, why
is this specific half hour so revered by television
writers? Because it is a pure, unadulterated
French farce. Specifically, it follows the intricate
style of the playwright George's Fado. Fado.
Okay, break that down for us. What does that
actually mean in practice? So in your typical
90s sitcom, the comedy is almost entirely in
the dialogue. It's bing, bang, boom, punchline,
set -up joke, set -up joke. In a Fadozo farce,
the comedy comes from the physical architecture
and the sheer mechanics of misunderstanding.
It's all about who is in what room, which door
is opening at what exact second, and who just
narrowly missed seeing whom. It is highly mathematical
comedy. So set the scene for us in this episode.
The setup is deliberately contrived, as all classic
farces have to be. Roz wins a weekend trip to
a ski lodge, but she can't go, so she trades
to Frazier. For a new television. Naturally.
So the whole gang heads up to this cabin. Frasier,
Niles, Daphne, and Martin. Plus their two guests,
Annie, who is a beautiful swimsuit model and
a friend of Daphne's, and Guy, the very handsome,
very French ski instructor. And this is where
the famous round robin of attraction begins.
It's a daisy chain of desire. And let's actually
track it because if you miss even one link in
this chain, the whole engine falls apart. Okay,
so Frasier desperately wants Annie. He is pursuing
her very aggressively. Got it. Frasier likes
Annie. But Annie is completely not interested
in Frasier. She is utterly obsessed with Niles.
She thinks Niles is this tortured, poetic, romantic
soul. Which, to be fair, he is. Just not for
her. Right. Niles is entirely blind to Annie
because he only wants Daphne. Daphne, meanwhile,
decides she wants a fun little holiday fling.
So she is actively pursuing Guy, the ski instructor.
And Guy. Who does Guy want? Guy thinks Niles
is pursuing him. It's so funny. Why does he think
that? It's all because of Martin. Martin's ears
are clogged from the high altitude of the mountains.
He literally can't hear a single thing anyone
is saying. So when Guy says things to Martin
like, your son is very handsome, Martin just
smiles, nods, and gives him a big thumbs up.
Oh my gosh. So Guy thinks he has the father's
explicit blessing to date his son Niles. And
doesn't Guy also think that Daphne and Annie
are a couple? Yes. Because he catches them in
a bedroom together in a totally innocent but
compromising looking situation. Yeah. So you
have this perfect unbroken circle of misunderstanding.
Fraser wants Annie. Annie wants Niles. Niles
wants Daphne. Daphne wants Guy. Guy wants Niles.
And Guy thinks Daphne and Annie are together.
It creates a perpetual motion machine of slamming
doors and near misses. And the dialogue during
all this? The dialogue is almost secondary to
the geometry of the scene. The absolute funniest
moments are just... Silent reaction shots. Like
Niles' face. Yes. Niles realizing that Guy is
hitting on him. Or Frasier realizing at the very
climax of the chaos that he is the only single
person in the entire lodge who is not being lusted
after by anyone. It's an intricate ballet. You
could legitimately watch the episode with the
sound totally turned off and still completely
understand the story. Yeah. That is incredibly
hard to write. It really is. It feels exactly
like a stage play translated to television. OK,
so let's pivot from the physical chaos of the
ski lodge to the mental chaos happening inside
Frasier Crane's head, because season five really
puts his massive ego under the microscope. It
really does. You know, on paper, Frasier is an
incredibly successful man. He's rich. He's famous
in the city. He's highly educated. But underneath
all of that, he has this gaping, unfillable hole
of insecurity. And season five just constantly
pokes at it. Let's look at the episode The Thousandth
Show. This is. Obviously a huge milestone for
his radio career. It is. 1 ,000 broadcasts. And
Frazier plays his classic humble servant routine.
Oh, I don't want to fuss. It's just my job. Please
don't make a big deal out of it. But secretly,
he wants a parade. He absolutely wants the confetti
and the marching bands. He craves the external
validation. And the city actually gives it to
him. The mayor officially declares it Frazier
Crane Day in Seattle. There's a massive rally
set up at the base of the Space Needle. By all
accounts, this should be the greatest day of
his entire life. But of course it goes terribly
wrong. Horribly, hilariously wrong. He and Niles
decide to walk to the rally to enjoy the adulation
of the city, but they get lost. Frasier gets
stunned by a bee. A blind man ends up stealing
his shoes. It's an odyssey of disaster. He completely
misses his own rally. He misses his big moment
of glory. But there's a moment at the very end
of the episode that I think really saves it from
just being... 30 minutes of Fraser needlessly
suffering. You're talking about the limo scene.
Yeah. He ends up sharing a ride. I think it's
a limo with a fan. It's a listener. The chauffeur
of the limo. A guy named John. So Fraser is sitting
in the back, completely miserable. He's ranting
about how his day is ruined and nobody cares
about him. And then he stops and asks John, do
you actually listen to my show? And John says
yes. And John starts telling him a story about
how Fraser's advice helped him deal with a really
tough problem he was having with his brother.
And Frazier just completely shuts up. He stops
performing and he actually listens. And you can
visibly see the massive ego deflate and the actual
doctor appear. He realizes in that quiet moment
that the giant rally doesn't matter. The 999
people cheering at the Space Needle don't matter.
Helping this one specific guy in the front seat
matters. It completely grounds him. It's a beautiful
moment, but, you know, that ego is very resilient
and it comes bouncing right back, especially
in his dating life. Which brings us to a section
we're calling relationship failures. It is a
brutally funny year for Frazier's heart. He dates
these incredible, formidable women, but either
he ruins it or the universe ruins it for him.
Let's take Frazier's imaginary friend as an example.
He dates Selah Ward. He dates Kelly Easterbrook.
A literal supermodel who also happens to be a
zoologist. She is objectively the perfect woman.
But nobody in his family belies him. Because
she's going through a messy breakup. And she
insists on keeping their relationship a total
secret. It's a brilliant reversal of the classic
George class trope or the fake girlfriend in
Canada excuse. Frazier is actually telling the
truth. But because of the circumstances, he sounds
completely insane to everyone around him. Right.
His family starts pitying him. They honestly
think he's having a psychotic break, much like
Niles did. It's a direct attack on his credibility,
which he values so highly. And then there's the
episode My Fair Frazier. Now, this one attacks
his masculinity or at least his very traditional.
rigid view of his own masculinity. He starts
dating Samantha Pierce, who is a high -powered,
high -profile defense attorney. And in this dynamic,
she's the busy one. She's the one constantly
canceling dates because of work. She's the undeniable
alpha in the relationship. And Frazier essentially
becomes the wife. In the classic 1950s sitcom
sense of the word, yes. He becomes the homemaker.
He's the one waiting by the phone. He's the one
pouting when she's late. He's picking out gifts
for her colleagues. And he absolutely hates it.
He can't handle it. He cannot handle not being
the dominant driving force in the relationship.
It totally exposes his deep need for control.
But the absolute ultimate blow to his ego out
of the whole season has to be the episode The
Perfect Guy. Oh, Dr. Clint Webber. Played so
brilliantly by Billy Campbell. This character
is as if he was designed in a secret laboratory
just to systematically destroy Frasier Crane's
self -esteem. He's incredibly handsome. He's
a brilliant doctor. He went to Oxford. He plays
squash better than Frazier. He speaks much better
French than Frazier. And the worst part for Frazier
is that he's nice. He's incredibly nice. He's
genuinely humble and kind. And Frazier cannot
stand it for a second. He spends the entire duration
of the episode desperately, obsessively trying
to find just one single flaw, just one tiny thing
that Clint is bad at. But why? I mean, why can't
he just be happy to have found a peer? Because
Frazier's entire identity is built on the foundation
of being the best. He has to be the smartest
guy in the room. He has to be the most cultured.
If Clint Webber exists and is better at all those
things, then Frasier feels entirely redundant.
It's deep existential dread disguised as petty,
childish jealousy. And when he finally, finally
finds the flaw. And Lent is tone deaf. He confidently
sings a song and he's absolutely awful at it.
He can't carry a tune in a bucket. And the look
of pure, unadulterated, malicious joy on Frasier's
face when he hears it is just priceless. It's
so petty, but it's also deeply, deeply human.
We've all been there. All right, let's move from
the sons to the patriarch, Martin Crane. We spend
so much time talking with the boys and their
neuroses, but Martin actually had a very quiet,
very beautiful, emotional arc throughout season
five. Martin is the anchor of the show, and the
episode The Gift Horse is really the essential
Martin episode of the season, if not the whole
series. centers around his 65th birthday. This
is the episode where they try to outgift each
other, right? Frasier buys him the giant TV.
Right. Frasier buys him this massive, absurdly
large, wall -sized television. Because Frasier
often equates money with love. He drops a fortune
on this thing, and he smugly thinks he's easily
won the birthday. But Niles goes in a completely
different, much more thoughtful direction. Niles
buys a Gides. Ogides is an old police horse that
Martin used to ride when he was on mounted patrol
back in his glory days. Niles tracked this specific
horse down and paid for its full retirement in
a really nice stable. And the scene where they
actually go to visit the horse, it's very different
tonally. It's not playing for laughs. No, it's
profoundly melancholy. Martin walks into the
stable and sees this old, tired horse. And he
essentially sees himself. He delivers this incredible,
quiet monologue to the horse about how the two
of them used to be so strong. They used to own
the city streets. People respected them. They
were in the thick of the action. And now they're
just old. Yeah. They have stiff knees. They can't
do the job anymore. They've essentially been
put out to pasture by society. It's a really
stark meditation on aging. It is. And it hits
both of the brothers incredibly hard. Because
initially, Fraser's just jealous that Niles obviously
got the better, more meaningful gift. He's pouting
about it. But in a moment of genuine emotional
growth, when they both see Martin crying over
the horse, Niles does something unexpected. He
tells Martin that the gift is actually from both
of them. He voluntarily shares the credit. He
totally sacrifices his own victory in this sibling
rivalry just to preserve Frazier's dignity and
to maximize Martin's happiness. It's an incredibly
selfless, mature moment for Niles. It's beautiful.
And we also see Martin's heartbreak later in
the season, his ongoing relationship with Sherry.
Sherry Dempsey. The absolute bane of the crane
boy's existence. She is loud, she's brash, she
wears strong perfume, she plays the banjo in
the apartment. But Martin genuinely loves her.
She makes him laugh when he's usually so grumpy.
She definitely brings a lot of life and noise
into that quiet apartment. But in the episode
Ain't Nobody's Business, if I do, the relationship
finally ends. And I love exactly how the writers
handled this breakup. Right, because the boys
try to sabotage it, don't they? Oh, they do.
They hire a private investigator to dig into
her past, and they find out she's been married
six times before. Which is an awful invasion
of privacy. It's terrible behavior. But that
is actually not why the couple breaks up. Martin
proposes to Sherry. He wants the commitment of
marriage. Sherry loves him deeply, but she values
her personal freedom. She's been married six
times. She doesn't want to be tied down again.
So it's a completely mature... adult breakup.
Exactly. It's not a sitcom misunderstanding that
could be solved in five minutes. It's two people
who just fundamentally want different things
out of the rest of their lives. Martin realizes
that at his age, 65, he wants permanence. He
wants a wife. Sherry just wants a boyfriend to
have fun with. It's heartbreaking specifically
because nobody is the bad guy in the situation.
It's just life. Okay, so we have covered the
unexpected pregnancy, the bitter divorce, the
bruised ego, the heartbreaking breakup. Now we
finally arrive at the season finale, Sweet Dreams.
This is the episode where the writers just decided
to burn the entire house down to the ground.
And it starts over something so incredibly small.
It starts with tea. Right. Frazier is asked to
read a live commercial on his show for Happy
Dreams Tea, but he tries it and he thinks it's
complete snake oil. It doesn't work. It tastes
awful. So he stands on his principles and outright
refuses to read the ad copy. Which, as an audience,
we generally respect. We like that he has integrity.
We do. But the real -world consequences are catastrophic.
The station management fires him for insubordination.
And then it just snowballs from there? The new
station manager, Kenny... tries to defend Frazier
to the higher -ups, so Kenny gets fired. Seeing
this, Frazier decides to lead a full -blown workers'
revolt. He gathers all the on -air talent, Bulldog,
Yul Chesterton, Roz. They march down to the mysterious
station owner's office to demand their jobs back
and stand up for creative integrity. It's like
Les Miserables taking place in a Seattle radio
station. It really is. Until they actually meet
the owner. They think his name is Joe Martin,
this corporate suit. It turns out... It's Jose
Martinez. And he isn't firing them because of
the tea boycott at all. Why is he firing them?
He's fundamentally changing the station's format.
He's flipping KACL from talk radio to Latino
Amigo, an all Latino music station. So it's not
a personal vendetta against Frazier's principles.
It's just cold, hard business. Which actually
makes it so much worse for Frazier's ego. You
can argue with a person about ethics, but you
cannot argue with a demographic shift in market
research. Martinez just fires everyone on the
spot. Frazier, Ross, Bulldog, Gill. In one fell
swoop, the entire core cast is unemployed. And
the episode ends on such an odd, jarring note.
The credits roll and usually for five years we
hear Frasier singing tossed salads and scrambled
eggs. But this time it's an upbeat salsa version
of the theme song. It's a total shock to the
system. It creates this massive unsettling void.
The audience in May of 1998 was left thinking,
wait, is there even going to be a radio show
next year? What exactly is this show if they
aren't working at the station? It was a massive
structural cliffhanger. So let's try to synthesize
all of this. We started the hour by saying season
five is the death of the status quo. Just think
about exactly where we end up. Roz is a single
mother with a newborn. Niles is divorced and
living alone in a depressing bachelor pad. Martin
is single again and feeling his age. And everyone,
the entire ensemble, is unemployed. The chessboard
hasn't just been moved, it's been completely
flipped over. And yet, despite all that heavy
drama, it's also arguably the funniest season
of the show's entire run. That is the specific
magic of season five. They managed to seamlessly
blend the absolute darkest, most vulnerable moments
of these characters' lives with the highest,
most chaotic peaks of physical farce. They genuinely
trusted their audience to handle the tonal whiff
lash. I want to leave you, the listeners, with
the final thought to chew on. We talked a lot
today about Niles. He goes through absolute hell
this season. He loses his wife. He loses his
family money. He loses his social standing, his
home. He is completely stripped bare of everything
that defined him. But because of that, he also
finally gains the courage to eat that dinner
with Daphne. He gains the courage to finally
stand up to Maris' abuse. So here's the question
for you. Was the total destruction of Niles'
safe, wealthy, insulated life the necessary trauma
required to make him a man worthy of Daphne Moon?
Oh, wow. Did he have to lose the fantasy life
to actually get the reality he wanted? Exactly.
Did the universe essentially have to break him
down to nothing just to build him back up into
someone who could actually be a strong, equal
partner to her? That is a profoundly interesting
question. And looking at the evidence of the
season, I think the answer is yes. It's definitely
something to mull over. Thank you so much for
joining us on this deep dive into Frasier season
five. We will catch you on the next one.