Dancin' Homer (aka It's The Kind Of Place That Makes A Bum Feel Like A King)

 An oddity, this one.

"Dancin' Homer" (7F05), which first aired on November 8th 1990, has long been one of those Simpsons episodes from show's early years that I'm inclined file away in the Not Exactly vault. Not exactly a bad effort, but somehow not exactly hitting the high mark the series was already setting this quickly into its lifespan. To my mind, it's always stood out as one of the weaker installments of the predominantly robust Season 2 (although "Bart's Dog Gets An F" is firmly at the bottom). "Dancin' Homer" has, nevertheless, persevered, and it's an episode that has consistently surprised me over the years. Every time I've revisited it, it ends up being better than I'd remembered, and I've come away liking it that little bit more - and yet, it's never quite been able to win me over to the point that I'd consider it as successful episode ("Bart's Dog Gets An F", bless it, has just never grown on me to any capacity, no matter how many chances I've given it). It's a fun collection of gags and moments that, somehow or other, isn't the sum of its parts. And I've combed over it enough times, in trying to figure out exactly what it is about it that keeps it from coming together, that you could even say I've grown rather fond of it. "Dancin' Homer" got the better of me in the end. I still don't think it works, however.

My personal feelings aside, "Dancin' Homer" actually has a very significant place within the series' history, for it marks the first instance of what would, in little time, become one of its most notorious recurring gimmicks. Here's a bit of quintessential pub quiz trivia - the first ever celebrity to make a guest appearance on the show playing a Simpson-ised version of themselves was none other than lounge singer Tony Bennett, whom the Simpsons here happen to drive past while entering Capital City. No mean feat, given that some of the show's earliest guests felt uneasy enough about having their names in the credits (so low down in the showbiz food chain was TV animation at the time). And fair play to Bennett - his input ends up being the highlight of the episode (that, and a particular Lisa-ism that we'll touch on in due course). As the family approach the capital, it's almost as if the universe has aligned to bestow a personal welcome exclusively upon them (and to facilitate a particularly rousing game of "diegetic or non-diegetic?") by having the conveniently-placed Bennett croon out an infectious ode to the city that could make a bum feel like a king, and make a king feel like a nutty, cuckoo super-king. Or maybe it's a crime-ridden dive laden with garish neon signage - either way, for the Simpsons it signifies their prospective moving up in the world. Naturally, since the series has applied a strict policy of tactical evasion when it comes to that classically futile question of which state the Simpsons inhabit, we have no way of knowing which capital city Bennett is describing, but perhaps his inability to properly name-check the city adds to that whole sense of disingenuous mystique - for such a swingin' town, Capital City sure does play like any number of generic big cities. (Note: Homer would later return there, briefly, with Home-Wrecker Mindy Simmons in the Season 5 episode "The Last Temptation of Homer", where she referred to it by its apparent nickname, the Windy Apple.)

"Dancin' Homer" could be seen as a somewhat experimental episode, as it's told mostly in flashback, with a framing narrative set at Moe's tavern, where a dejected Homer is regaling an audience of barflies with the story of his family's recent, short-lived relocation to Capital City. We know from the start that things have decidedly not gone Homer's way and where he's ultimately fated to end up, so it's all a matter of us being brought up to speed on his latest misadventure. It wasn't the first Simpsons episode to begin at what is effectively the end of story and then to slowly work its way to the point where we came in - "The Telltale Head" of Season 1 did something fairly similar, with Bart attempting to explain to a mob of Springfieldians how he came to possess the severed head of the town's founder, Jedediah Springfield (or rather, a statue in his likeness). Homer, though, is a much more hands-on storyteller than Bart was before him, with the episode making extensive use of the interplay between the story unfolding and Homer's post factum commentary. Homer makes several biting observations which indicate that, despite all the standard levels of Simpsons solidarity on display here, his family were actually more of an annoyance than a comfort in flocking around him at his lowest ebb ("What a family. My wife and kids stood by me. On the way home I realised how little that helped."). In fact, Homer expresses a surprising amount of bitterness toward his family for being nothing less than entirely supportive of him, even going so far as to refer to Marge as "My big dumb wife" (although he immediately retracts this), which gives the episode a surprisingly bleak undertone. At the end of his flashback, when Homer is forced to retreat from the glitz and glamor of the Windy Apple, his big shot at glory having been cruelly eviscerated, he finds his family all waiting upon the sidelines to greet him. To Homer, they are not welcome reassurance that he'll always be loved and valued among his fellow Simpson, but symbols of his perpetually lowly status. I don't even think that it necessarily reflects badly on Homer - we've all had moments where we're so thoroughly down in the mouth that anybody purposely looking to cheer us up is only going to piss us off further. Often, there is no easy solution to our deepest pain. "Dancin' Homer" represents The Simpsons at its most doggedly unsentimental, and yet it still manages to settle on a conclusion that feels curiously pat...but let's not get ahead here.

The shot at glory in question was an opportunity to become the new mascot for the Capital City baseball team, having spent the bulk of the episode working alongside Springfield's local minor leagues team, the Isotopes, a gig he earned when a bit of Dutch courage enabled him to get up before the crowds and dance in support of the team during a company outing. I should admit upfront that I'm not much of a baseball enthusiast, which potentially limits my ability to relate to certain scenes and observations - although I do know that Homer's farewell speech, on leaving the Isotopes, was taken from a film called Pride of The Yankees, which I have not seen but with which I am vaguely familiar through the magic of cultural osmosis (the film is referenced more explicitly in the Frasier episode "Hot Ticket", where Martin alludes to the exact same speech). Still, I don't think you need a whole lot of knowledge or first-hand experience of the sport in question to be in on the episode's central gag, which has to do with the disproportionate amount of reverence paid to a pursuit built around what is, on the surface at least, the intrinsically goofy business of donning a silly costume and bopping before the masses (no disrespect intended to real-world sports mascots; I've no doubt that it is a very difficult and challenging business getting a crowd warmed up before a game). Homer's shtick involves dancing to "Baby Elephant Walk" by Henry Mancini. These antics prove a hit with the Springfieldians, so much so that Homer's popularity begins to dwarf that of the Isotopes themselves. Eventually, he finds himself courted by the major leagues in Capital City as a possible replacement for their own long-term mascot, the Capital City Goofball, who is getting on in years, the main drawback being that it would require the family to uproot their established lives in Springfield and start anew in Capital City. Bart and Lisa have some reservations, but Marge throws her support entirely behind Homer, so away they go. Alas, the gambit does not pay off - Homer's act is an absolute flop with the denizens of Capital City, giving the family no other option than to go crawling back to their plebeian lives in Springfield. The reason for Homer's failure is elucidated by one of the spectators, who remarks that, "These cornball antics may play in the sticks, but this is Capital City." So either the city slickers are snobs or the small towners are easily amused. You can take your pick. But that does lead me into the big overhanging question I've never quite been able to satisfy regarding this one's resolution - whose side are we supposed to be on? I mean, it's a given that we do feel for Homer, and we recognise that he's putting his heart into this gig, but are we supposed to think that his act had genuine merit and that the reception he gets at Capital City is excessively harsh, or is he getting a taste of a long overdue reality sandwich? Because, let's face it, Homer's act is kind of naff. For all I know, it's naffness is meant to be part of its charm, but he's still a grown man in a cape replicating his own drunken swagger. I'm not sure I can begrudge the crowds at Capital City for noticing that the emperor isn't wearing clothes. Then again, it's not as though we get any substantial insight into what makes the Capital City Goofball so different. Either way, Lisa's objection to the family moving - "We're simple people with simple values. Everyone in Springfield knows us, and has forgiven us" - is borne out by the end of the episode. Perhaps the naffness of Dancin' Homer went down better in Springfield because Springfield itself is (at best) a bit naff.

What makes this outcome an especially bitter pill to swallow is that none of what happens is Homer's fault. He was set up for humiliation by higher powers who'd convinced him that he had a chance of success, and he did exactly what was required of him. He also never allowed his short-lived fame to go to his head, so it's not as though he was begging for a lesson in humility (the Homer we had at the start of Season 2 was at a very different point on his character's evolutionary ladder to anything post-Mirkin's era - here, he was frequently unsure of himself and not always at ease with being the centre of attention). But then life is unfair, and that's something The Simpsons has always been loathe to sugar-coat, as was demonstrated in the conclusion to "Simpson and Delilah", where Homer's bolstered self-confidence couldn't overcome the fact that his audience wouldn't take him seriously on account of his lack of hair. I suppose this is yet another factor in this episode's disfavour - it is effectively a variation on the exact same scenario we saw just a few episodes prior in "Simpson and Delilah", only minus that installment's big attraction in the form of a Harvey Fierstein-voiced PA. Homer momentarily becomes the toast of a particular circle, and it seems that big things are in his future, only for him to be booted back to square one when he's introduced to a fresh batch of onlookers who form such a damning first impression. It is a decidedly lesser reworking of The Rise and Fall of Homer, being less story-orientated than "Simpson and Delilah", and while its central gag - of clowning being serious business - produces some good jokes (I love Homer's meeting with the Capital City Goofball, and that they introduce themselves to one another by their mascot names, not their real names) - it is a bit thin to carry the entire episode. But perhaps the real tell-tale clue for how we're intended to perceive "Dancin' Homer" is embedded in Marge's winking one-liner, "A Simpson on a t-shirt? I never thought I'd see the day!" If we treat this line as the nexus of the entire story, then suddenly it begins to feel less like a weaker retread of "Simpson and Delilah" and more like a proto "Bart Gets Famous". Both episodes are concerned with the disposable nature of celebrity (something foreshadowed at the opening game in "Dancin' Homer" when Homer and Bart eagerly discuss the prospect of seeing rising young stars rubbing shoulders with washed-up major leaguers), with sly nods to the intense wave of "Bart Mania" that defined the show's early foothold in popular consciousness, albeit from opposite ends of the fad's lifespan. Between 1990 and 1991, Bart was embraced by consumerist culture for his barrage of t-shirt friendly catchphrases and marketable anarchy, something that peaked with the hit single, "Do The Bartman", and which "Bart Gets Famous" had a ball both mourning and skewering from the vantage point of 1994, when those days were firmly passed. "Dancin' Homer" came about when The Simpsons was on its way up, and while it's seldom as on the nose in its satire as "Bart Gets Famous", it conveys every bit as much leeriness toward the perils of being the latest hot thing, and the inevitability that, sooner or later, zeitgeist will move on and you'll find that you've overstayed your welcome. Even before bombing in Capital City, Homer is painfully aware of how little he matters to his ostensibly adoring fanbase at home - on parting ways with the Isotopes, he understands why the door has immediately closed on a prospective comeback: "the fickle fans [were] already forgetting me". From the start, the series had no delusions about its place in the broader scheme of things, and the likelihood that the world's love affair with Bart and kin would be anything other than a passing diversion - to the extent that you might even say that the joke was ultimately on them, because while Bart Mania had a predictably limited shelf life, The Simpsons itself has endured as one of the most significant pop cultural institutions of modern times. "Dancin' Homer" anticipates a very different trajectory, one in which The Simpsons would eventually be forced to take its place as just another castaway in the flophouse of forgotten fads. The hardest part about being forced back in anonymity is, of course, in having tasted how exhilarating things are from the top, as is summed up succinctly in Lisa's objections to the prospect of returning to Springfield - "I can't go back...not after I've seen the bright lights of Capital City!".

 "Dancin' Homer" gets off to a slow start - the first act, which sees the family attending a baseball game as part of a company social organised by Burns in an effort to make a perfunctory connection with his underlings, contains a LOT of padding, which works both in the episode's favour and against it. In the spirit of the series' first two seasons, there are some really nice moments that don't serve to forward the plot so much as to map out the characters' chemistry; in particular, we bear witness to the surprising affinity that blossoms between Homer and Burns when they're seated next to each other during the game, and Homer discovers that Burns, under the right circumstances, can be as uproarious and human as the next spectator (even if his heckling repertoire is a touch antiquated). In narrative terms, Burns is entirely superfluous - he doesn't reappear after the first act, and did we really need the context of the company social just to get the Simpsons out to a ball game? - but the episode definitely feels like it would lose something without him; not least because there's a smidgen of understated pathos in the fact that Homer's forced entry into the spotlight, while it earns him the fleeting admiration of the crowd, seems to cancel out the real possibility of improved understandings with his boss. The one character who is not impressed by Homer's dancing gambit is Burns, who orders that he be banned from all future company outings - much to the delight of Smithers, who felt threatened by the rapport that Homer and Burns were developing (or at least I assume that's how Smithers was feeling - he doesn't get a whole lot of focus during the game itself, but why else would Homer's banning have him giggling with such glee?). Also putting in a welcome appearance is Bleeding Gums Murphy from "Moaning Lisa" (albeit voiced by Daryl L. Coley instead of Ron Taylor), who performs a hilariously elongated rendition of "Star-Spangled Banner", over which, in an adorable sight gag, only Lisa is able to maintain enthusiasm for the full duration. But my favourite first-act offering, hands-down, is the stand an indignant Marge insists on taking for Bart when Flash Baylor, one of those washed-up major leaguers, refuses to sign his baseball. She gets the autograph because Flash thinks she's hot stuff, and neither Homer and Marge seem especially offended by his sleazy attempt at propositioning her into a one night stand, in part because they're still awestruck by his (somewhat faded) celebrity.

The downside to the ultra-padded first act is that, by the time we reach the episode's central dilemma, regarding whether the Simpsons can pack up their lives in Springfield and relocate to the bustling atmosphere of Capital City, it has precious little time to do much with it other than what directly forwards Homer's plot. We don't get any insight into what life in Capital City would mean for Marge, Bart, Lisa and Maggie, or their attempts to readjust to their new surroundings. The whole excursion is over so quickly, though perhaps that makes Lisa's aforementioned protest at going back to Springfield even droller, given the total non-connection the family have managed to forge with the city in that time. Lisa herself has only a minimal role in this episode (pretty much everyone does apart from Homer and, for the first act only, Burns), but she is on good form throughout as a sort of Greek chorus to the plot's assorted developments, commenting on the action more than directly participating. On seeing Homer in his mascot get-up for the first time, she dryly remarks that, "Our lives have taken an odd turn", while her book-ending comments on either side of the family's ill-fated move perfectly encapsulate the heartbreak that lies in store in both destinations. At the same time, I'm struck by how much underlying despair there is to her reasoning for wanting to stay put in Springfield - her assertion that, "I was born here, and I thought I would die here", has the air more of her being resigned to her fate than of any great emotional attachment to her town of birth (thankfully, Mr Bergstrom would show up before the season was through to assure Lisa that she would one day be leaving Springfield to be part of something bigger). Even her declaration of support for her father is expressed in troublingly morbid terms: "What doesn't kill me can only make me stronger." But the Lisa-ism that really boosts this whole episode for me (along with being one of my all-time favourite Lisa moments, period) is the melancholic farewell bid to her peers at Springfield Elementary: "I can't help but feel that if we had gotten to know each other better, my leaving would have meant something." I can remember seeing this episode for the first time as a child, and frankly never feeling so seen.

Although nowadays, I think a character to whom I can relate all the better is Snowball II, whose expression,on being forced into the backseat of the family's car, conveys even greater despair still.

"Dancin' Homer" is also notable for being the first in a long line of "Homer Gets A Job" episodes - in subsequent installments, we would see him become the manager to a country musician, the driver of both a snowplough and a monorail, an astronaut, a professional Krusty The Clown look-alike, a freak in a rock music roadshow and the voice of a cartoon dog. An issue that's usually not addressed in such episodes, but does come up here, is what happens to Homer's regular 9 to 5 job at the nuclear power plant while he's got this other occupation going on. We saw in "Lisa's Pony" how much Homer struggled to moonlight an additional job, and with a number of these roles it's stretch to imagine how he could reasonably balance them alongside his established working hours, particularly the ones that require him to work outside of Springfield. Over time, it became standard practice in such episodes to ignore the question altogether, but at this point the series was still fairly conscious about maintaining a sliver of realism; when asked to take the mascot gig in Capital City, Homer acknowledges that he'll first have to ask his supervisor at the plant for a leave of absence. In one of the episode's best gags, he discovers that his supervisor is only too happy to be rid of him. So maybe he's been consulting the same individual ever since. I can't recall if Homer's supervisor ever appeared again, but from the mise-en-scene here, I don't exactly get the impression that he's one to point fingers over diligence.

All in all, there's no shortage of brilliant moments to be mined from "Dancin' Homer". So...why, in spite of everything, do I persist in being so down on the episode? I've already cited the thin plotting and lopsided pacing as obvious negatives, but I don't think those are, in themselves, necessarily so unforgivable. The real deal-breaker, for me, doesn't show up until literally the last seconds, taking us into the matter of that curiously pat conclusion. As with "Simpson and Delilah", Homer has suffered a major setback in life, but discovers that perhaps the situation back at square one isn't as dire as he first anticipated; he has everything he effectively needs there, after all. Here, his salvation arises not from the unconditional love of his family - that has already been rejected as a consolation prize - but in the camaraderie of his fellow losers, who afford him the respect and admiration he's been desperately seeking. His moment of catharsis arrives when he reaches the end of his story and realises that his audience of bums and lowlifes (as Marge would later describe them in "War of The Simpsons") have remained utterly enraptured the entire time, prompting him to reevaluate whether or not the experience has been a total wash. "I wonder," muses Homer, "why stories of humiliation and degradation make you more popular?" "I don't know," answers Moe, "They just do." And that, folks, might be the single biggest factor in why, no matter how much fun I've had in the interim, I inevitably come away feeling somewhat underwhelmed by "Dancin' Homer"; would it seem at all petty if I said that the episode doesn't quite work on account of bowing out on such a hokey final punchline? I think Homer sets it up perfectly well with his "humiliation and degradation" remark, but I can't help but feel that Moe's rather trite response could have been swapped out for something snappier. It's unfortunate that, whatever the merits of "Dancin' Homer", the triteness should be the last thing we're left with. So yeah, blame it all on Moe. Although, once again, I think the episode is at its strongest when viewed from the most meta angle possible - if we keep in mind that we, the viewers, are the real bums and lowlifes who've been hanging on Homer's every word for the episode's duration, and that, as fascinating as it was seeing him rise to stardom as a celebrated baseball mascot, the reason why Homer won our hearts in the first place is because he's the kind of everyman loser to whom we all can relate. Tales of unmitigated success to which we might aspire are all well and good, but humiliation and degradation are heartening reminders that we're all fallible and human. Homer's barstool story might, on the surface, have been one of resounding failure, but he finds that his words have value, if only in keeping his spectators, both within and beyond the fourth wall, entertained for twenty-odd minutes. Homer, then, is reassured of his place in the world, not as nutty, cuckoo super-king, but as a bum whose affinity with his fellow bums is intermittently enough to make him feel like a king.

Oh, and even if Homer couldn't cut it with the crowds at Capital City, he can seek solace in the fact that he has, apparently, already enjoyed a stint of notoriety in the Windy City, albeit with neither his consent or his knowledge. If you look closely during his locker room scene with the Capital City Goofball, you'll notice that the picture of Homer dancing with Princess Kashmir from "Homer's Night Out" has made it as far as the major leaguers in Capital City. Those city slickers took at least one Dancin' Homer to their hearts, even if it was the more licentious of the two.