O Feeny, Where Art Thou: Revisiting "Boy Meets World"

In the song “No Sentiment” from the (quite excellent) 2012 Cloud Nothings album Attack on Memory, lead singer Dylan Baldi wails: “No nostalgia/No sentiment/We’re over it now/We were over it then.” While I can’t profess to know exactly what Baldi seems so frustrated about, the lyrics can be taken as an apt indictment of the obsession the so-called 'Millennial Generation' has with all things nostalgia. Whether it’s old school Nickelodeon cartoons or the mimicry of falsely remembered synthetic soundscapes from the 1980s, there is a never-ending strain to reach back to halcyon days in which the main concern was getting permission to stay up an thirty extra minutes. This obsessive rumination is not at all unique to this generation, nor is it a surprising characteristic for humans to want to reminisce about better days—especially given the current economic crisis and impending Mayan Apocalypse. But the new ways in which we have access to the trinkets of our past makes our age categorically different. Somewhere out there, you can find any movie, TV show, or song that you've ever heard (usually without much effort) and take yourself back to those times when you first experienced it.

I have spent the better part of the last three months watching every single episode of the show Boy Meets World. And I can’t say exactly why, other than I must possess the same strings that pull me towards the warm glow of the 1990s as the rest of my Millennial brethren. Boy Meets World, which initially aired Friday nights on ABC from September 24, 1993, to May 5, 2000, amassed 158 episodes over seven seasons, which is an impressive run for just about any TV show.  The storyline centered around protagonist Cory Matthews (“Boy”), a very average suburban kid, as he entered “World,” juggling friendships (Shawn), romance (Topanga), siblings (Eric and Morgan), parents (Alan and Amy), and teachers (basically just Mr. Feeny) from 6^th grade until his sophomore year of college. Other shows that have been dug up lately like Saved by the Bell (which ran from 1989 to 1993) and Full House (1987 to 1995) were mainstays around my house for much of the ‘90s, yet I was too young to experience the entirety of these series when they first appeared. I eventually saw every episode of those shows in syndication, but I don’t have the same feelings towards them because I wasn’t growing up alongside them. Boy Meets World feels different because I remember when it began and I remember when it ended. I can think of no other television show that spanned most of my adolescence and always remained in the background for a lot of my ‘growing up.’

So, I wasn’t sure what to expect from full immersion in a series that had left my life a decade ago. Would it be as good as I had remembered it? Would watching this show force my mind to revert back to its 11-year-old iteration?  During the course of my viewing (thanks to DVR), I was able to know the original air date for each episode, which prompted my mind to postulate what I was doing when these episodes first aired. Truthfully, I have lost most concrete memories of exactly what I was up to when these episodes came on, but I did remember a lot of the plots and I generally was aware of where I was when I watched them (at home in the throes of middle school angst, no doubt). So while the experience didn’t bring back a lot of flashbacks, it did reignite a lot of the feelings associated with those times. Mostly I remember how it felt stay up on a Friday night (TGIF) and not have to worry about going to school the next day. I remember getting to eat pizza and chicken nuggets. In my world of schedules and control administered by grown-ups, Friday night television provided a small feeling of freedom that I relished in, even if I was just sitting at home watching television.

Since I have (somewhat) matured since these episodes originally aired, my evaluation of the show itself is different than it once was. I still think it’s pretty fantastic, particularly the first four seasons. It never felt forced, it was consistently funny, and it created engaging dynamics between the protagonist and the other people in his world. It was, in my estimation, a portrayal of growing up that struck a skillful balance between realism and idealization. Sure, it wasn’t like watching a videotape of my own life, but there was enough truth there to create a universe that I could relate to and laugh at in the safe confines of my own home.

There was no struggle on my part to watch the first four seasons—in fact, it was difficult to get me to stop watching. But then came season five (which livened things up by throwing one of Joey Lawrence’s younger brothers into the mix), in which the show began to display obvious signs of strain. In particular, the episode “No Guts, No Cory,” which first aired on November 7, 1997, felt like the show’s ‘jump the shark’ moment. While there certainly had been elements of implausibility and fantasy on the show before (like the episode where Cory kind of turns into a werewolf), the show had previously been based in something that felt wholly bounded in reality. This episode abandons that principle entirely, as we are greeted by Salem the Cat from Sabrina the Teenage Witch. Why Salem is here, on the wrong show, I cannot say, but this talking cat decides to transport the entire cast to the 1940s in the midst of World War II. The plot is muddled, but it predictably revolves around Cory doing something to get back with Topanga. After this episode, things start to hit the proverbial fan and the show’s writers noticeably begin to throw everything at the wall to see what would stick. For example:

·         Previously ‘chill’ older brother Eric, turns into an insufferable, brainless dolt (who also happens to be an expert in art history for an episode, then later gets fat for comic effect);

·         There is a murder mystery episode, modeled after Scream and I Know What You Did Last Summer featuring Jennifer Love Hewitt (who apparently dated Will Friedle (Eric) at the time);

·          Once he is discovered as a great actor, Eric gets his own TV show in Hollywood (self-referentially titled “Kid Gets Acquainted With Universe”);

·          The main characters conveniently graduate high school two years earlier than they should have so we can go ahead and move on to the bigger, better world of college;

·         Shawn’s father dies and returns in several episodes as a ghost in order to provide guidance to his son;

·         There is the time-honored tradition of adding a baby to save a struggling show when Amy gets pregnant (which she seems to neglect for the remainder of the series); also, there’s the addition of red-headed Rachel for the final two seasons for no real reason; and

·         Yet another visit to the 1940s occurs when Topanga gets sucked through a time portal in the closet into a Casablanca-esque piano bar (no, really).

One scenario, in particular, serves as a fitting microcosm of the trouble with the latter days of Boy Meets World. In “Road Trip” from season six, Shawn, in an attempt to cope with his father’s death, takes Cory along in his family’s motor home where he reveals to his best friend that he is going away for good. Because I care about these characters and because this course of events is important to the overall story, I am engaged in how this occurrence will play out. But then, out of nowhere, we are introduced to a desperate band of singing ladies called Nobody’s Angel (a real group, it turns out). They perform a full song and dance that goes on forever while Cory and Shawn sit mouths agape in awe of this out-of-nowhere discovery of musical genius. There is no irony here and the whole episode feels awkward and off-putting. I could barely watch. Moments like this one, along with the shameless efforts to incorporate timely pop culture references (Eric can do all the South Park voices!), really made the last few seasons a chore to watch. By the final seasons, the show and its characters were  like houseguests, once welcome, who now just wouldn’t leave.

There is no denying that Boy Meets World, even in its dying days, had some great moments. The finale, in particular, adequately captured the emotion behind saying goodbye and provided a sense of closure (even if the characters were only moving 70 miles away under somewhat dubious circumstances). During its run, the show managed to be humorous and morally grounded without pandering to more base interests (at least initially). Mr. Feeny really did provide some great advice that never felt like a public service announcement. My attachment to the show arose mostly from the characters, since seeing a group of people once a week for seven years makes you feel like you know them personally (this explains why I still watch The Office).  Knowing people often makes it hard to walk away, no matter how shoddy the scripts become. I felt pangs of sadness when I hit the “Delete” button on the final episode and banished Boy Meets World once again. But I must acknowledge that many moments, especially at the end, were not easy to enjoy.

Thus, this experience taught me that there is a time and a place for looking back. We can learn from nostalgia, but only so much. Just because something happened in the past and makes us feel warm and fuzzy inside when we think about it does not necessarily make it good or worthy of spending all of our time fawning over it. Eventually you have to let go and move on. At least, I think that’s what Mr. Feeny would recommend.