For the past thirty days or so my Cult Movie watching schedule has been blown to hell thanks to many sidetracks toward the small screen. First came Breaking Bad, which I finally got around to, which was fantastic, and addictive, which was followed up by a Malcolm in the Middle binge because Bryan Cranston is that awesome and the chemistry with Jane Kaczmarek make Hal and Lois Wilkerson the ideal Rob and Lora Petrie of the aughts. Then came the Winchester boys and Supernatural, with Mad Men looming on the horizon.
But the biggest culprit, however, is the very huge YouTube hole I find myself constantly cannonballing into where The Match Game plays at my house 24/7. I grew up with this game show in the 1970s. Loved it then, and I love it now. And what began as a lark to gauge how hammered Charles Nelson Reilly and Brett Sommers got from episode to episode, is now an obsession of shouting at the TV, filling in the blanks, and laughing my ass off.
Video courtesy of mrmatchgame.
This clip epitomizes everything I love about the show. The camaraderie -- the espirit de corps of the panelists, snarking and cracking on each other, but always earnestly efforting to help the contestants win. Host Gene Rayburn struggling to keep everyone moving forward (he always wore the damndest jackets), a juiced-up contestant that you openly want to root for, Charles being Charles, and the pure, unadulterated bedlam that happened on a daily basis. And this, this is what's been taking up all my time. I've got movies I need to be watching, dammit. And yet, every time I hear the theme, I answer the siren call for another half-dozen episodes:
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