You’re All That and a bag a chips
Kenan Thompson has just always been on TV, hasn’t he?
Last month, my friend shared a post on Facebook noting that the Nickelodeon kids sketch show All That premiered 29 years ago that day. I recoiled. I think I audibly shouted NO! to the confusion of my cats. To me, the 90s were just 10 years ago–maybe 15 on a good day. Surely one of the formative TV shows of my childhood couldn’t be circling its third decade. But here we are.
All That was the kids’ answer to SNL: a weekly irreverent sketch show featuring weird characters and over the top physical comedy all performed by kids. It spawned some iconic characters and segments, not just for kids television, but for the television landscape as a whole.
There was Pierre Escargot who taught us everyday French: Kenan Thompson sitting in a bubble bath reading poorly-pronounced French off a teleprompter, giving us phrases such as “Oh no! The macaroni is infected!” and laughing in French (honh honh honh). Its genius was Kenan’s terrible pronunciation and the true randomness of his phrases. I remember giggling uncontrollably at these sketches and being impressed with what I thought at the time was impeccable French. To this day, I claim that most of the French I know is this laugh, entirely inspired by Pierre Escargot.
The Loud Librarian, played by Lori Beth Denberg, was insistent that no one in the library make a sound while she made as much noise as she could. She would start with hammering a “Quiet Please" sign on the wall and then get noisier every minute until she was driving a motorcycle into the library to the horror of kids fleeing their books covering their ears, just to be shushed again for being too loud. The Loud Librarian sketch gave Lori Beth a great opportunity to be her own big, weird character. As the cast member who looked the oldest, she was often given the parts of the adults, teachers, and parents who were constantly trying to add a voice of reason to the odd character. Here, she got to shine, and use her big voice to dominate the scene.
Kel Mitchell’s Repair Man (Man Man Man) was a handyman superhero who ruined everything he tried to fix in a spectacular fashion. Kel was the king of physical comedy, and the writers leaned into his ability to stumble and fall with such precise timing that his characters were consistently falling down stairs and out of trees. It didn’t matter that we could see the big falls were clearly dummies dressed in an identical costume, Kel was so committed to the character that it still felt like he himself was falling. His characters had such strong self-confidence that their incompetence didn’t matter, you cheered for them to succeed, despite the mess they made.
Ear Boy (Josh Server) and Pizza Face (Kel) always held a sweet place in my heart. They were awkward teens disliked by their peers thanks to their comically large ears and a literal slice of pepperoni pizza for a face. They always vied to be more popular and to fit in despite their differences (and to get their classmates to stop throwing stuff at them). Looking back at this as an adult, I find this sketch series to be rather poignant: teens going through puberty are so insanely awkward, and these characters embody the difficulty of your body waiting to catch up with itself or the pain of acne. The beauty was that Ear Boy and Pizza Face were the heroes of each sketch, never the heel, always triumphing over their bullying classmates.
There was also Lori Beth’s classic Vital Information For Your Everyday Life, an SNL Weekend Update lookalike where she delivered ridiculous advice and facts behind a desk with the tone and timing of Norm McDonald. Her jokes followed the perfect set up-punchline structure that is accessible to all audiences, but because the writers were not concerned with convention, the punchline always surprised. Take this one: “You can hug your mother, you can ride a bike, but you cannot teach a pot pie how to speak Spanish.” I did not see that one coming.
And who could forget Good Burger, showcasing Kel1 as a big-hearted but dim surfer dude named Ed who worked at the local burger chain. While the sketches often hit Ed’s go-to catchphrases and idiosyncrasies a bit too much, Kel played them in such a way that they never got annoying. Ed was so earnest and wanted to help the customer so much, that even when he used water to clean off mayo from a burger or charged someone $82 before they ordered, you had to love him.
Looking back, I can understand the greater impact All That had on a generation of comedians. Throughout its run, the show featured a diverse cast, particularly in terms of race/ethnicity and gender, which was not the norm at the time. Mainstream sketch shows and sitcoms tended to feature largely white or Black casts (think SNL and Seinfeld or In Living Color and Martin). When All That premiered, SNL’s cast was dominated by white male comedians. All That’s creators very specifically sought out diverse voices because they understood their audience (which extended to the musical acts featured in every episode; they embraced hip hop and R&B musicians).3 Many cast members crossdressed, which given what’s happening against drag performers–which is really against transfolx–in the country right now feels particularly revolutionary. Lori Beth was big, and it was never a thing or the butt of a joke. The sketches never punched down on anyone for being different, but embraced these differences and hoisted them up for all to see. All That showed that anyone could be up there, as long as they fully embraced the silly and had fun.
All That’s 29th anniversary means that it also marks my beginning in the world of comedy; the time when I finally started to understand what sort of humor I liked and why I found it funny. I’ve always been a laugher, a goof, a stone cold weirdo. I had already started feeling the dopamine hits when you make others laugh and was frequently doing bits with my family; particularly one where I would waggle my eyebrows in a way that made my mother and sister lose it. Perhaps they were humoring me or perhaps they couldn’t help laughing at my persistence and commitment to the bit, but I loved making them feel good.
All That debuted in 1994, but officially started running in January 1995 when I was in third grade. It was a smash hit with my peers and I; we’d discuss our favorite moments in school on Monday as if it were our version of a water cooler show. During recess and after school, I would act out sketches and characters with my friends. I don’t think they had the same zest for All That reenactments as I did, but it reignited the magic I felt playing Captain Planet or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles as a kindergartner–I just loved it.
I would velcro doll’s clothing around my neck and fashion it into a tiny cape to be the wife of Kenan’s Superdude (it was the mid 90s and no one informed me that I could be the superhero myself).4 Superdude was lactose intolerant, and his arch nemesis was the Milkman. Like Superdude, I had the same Achilles Heel, the same Kryptonite: dairy. Any touch of milk and we’d fall to the floor, weakened and unable to fight back. But I, his Lois Lane, would help him save the day and everyone was happy.
I used to watch All That and later SNL with a sense of longing, a feeling that perhaps some day that could be me up there, bouncing around a stage in a big costume, fully immersing myself in the life of this odd character just to make people laugh.
And perhaps it will be. I finally started writing my own sketches and comedy in 2017 after years of thinking that it should be left up to the pros. I’ve created my own characters like Nancy, a perennially unlucky woman thanks to an unforwarded chain letter, or Charlotte, a fifth grader petitioning her parents to watch R-rated movies.5 I’ve written my own sketch shows for Second City and for This Week This Week in LA. This summer I’m directing a sketch show at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. I’m moving to Chicago in a few months to pursue the dream of a full-time career in comedy. Thanks (in part) to All That.
All That gave me the wonder of what comedy could be. Watching them now as a trained sketch professional,6 I see all the hallmarks of a well-constructed sketch. The weird fish out of water character placed into a “normal” setting. Two wacky characters acting as peas in a pod bouncing off of each other to get increasingly weirder. Setting up the norm with a weird premise and having the primary character play the voice of reason. All That works because it’s just a kid-friendly, heightened version of classic sketch comedy. The writers leaned into the over the top characters and physical comedy and away from biting social satire that lets it be timeless (even if one of the early cast members did a Ross Perot impression–one that rivaled Dana Carvey’s). Not all of the sketches hold up (I’m looking at you foreign exchange student Ishboo), but All That still hits the same dopamine center of nostalgia. It taught me what was funny and let me figure out how to make others laugh. It taught me that being normal was overrated, and that embracing your weirdness made you pretty great as is. Perhaps I won’t have the decades-spanning career that Kenan has,7 but I’m looking forward to the future in funny.
What are your memories of All That? Who were your favorite characters?
Kenan and Kel got their own spinoff show called…Kenan & Kel. It was just as ridiculous as All That, but featured both actors playing heightened versions of themselves, two best friends working at a convenience store. Kel LOVED orange soda with a passion unmatched by most. Last year, I got to meet Kel at AwesomeCon, DC’s Comic Con, and did his classic orange soda bit for him; it’s a life highlight.
Everything at Good Burger cost $8, which seems steep for the mid 90s.
I have a vivid memory of standing in my friend’s living room after spending the day at her house, being glued to the TV watching TLC on All That. Our moms were impatiently standing by ready for me to go home, but we wouldn’t budge until TLC finished singing “Creep.”
When I would play Captain Planet or TMNT, I always wanted to play the characters I loved most: Heart and Michelangelo respectively. But the boys I’d play with were also limited by traditional gender roles and made me play the girl Planeteers and April O’Neil instead.
John Wick 2.
I’m making this a thing.
All That was his big break, which led to Kenan & Kel, the Mighty Ducks, and now a record-breaking 20 seasons on SNL.